On an Average Day
by Polly
Summary: CHAPTER 9 IS UP! When a recuperating Lex reluctantly agrees to rely on the Kents for help, neither party is aware that, in typical Smallville fashion, events in the Kent household are about to take an unexpected turn that will affect every one of them..
1. Chapter 1

On an Average Day  
By: Polly  
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own them, I don't get any money from this...can't remember off-hand who DOES own them but I'm sure they'd make themselves known if they had a problem with this humble story.  
Rating: PG or PG13 (depending on your side of the pond)  
Summary: When Lex is forced to rely on the Kents for help, in typical Smallville fashion, nothing is allowed to go as planned...  
A/N: Many thanks to Allegra who, with gentle nagging, inspiring and prodding, has helped me get this out of my head and into my computer! :-)  
  
"noblesse oblige (no-bless oh-bleezh) n Often   
ironic the supposed obligation of the nobility   
to be honourable and generous. [French,lit:   
nobility obliges]"  
  
Lex Luthor was hard at work, feet propped up on a marginally expensive desk and dictionary open in his lap. The Armani business suit of that day had, some time ago, been replaced with soft, black jogging pants and a loose, grey sweater. The pale glow of the screen before him illuminated a mass-army of red and green squiggly lines, jabbing accusatory fingers at his late-night attempt at a progress report. If there was one thing the twenty-one year old hated more than being second-guessed, it was being second-guessed by a mish-mash network of motherboards and wires.   
  
So, casting his ever-nearing deadline aside, Lex had succumbed to an oft' times fond method of stalling: opening a dictionary at any page and letting his finger fall on a random word. It was amazing the things you could learn while trying to idle away the time. Possibly Alexander the Great had also had a similar, thought-provoking experience, though Lex didn't have a ready anecdote for that one. If suddenly looked in upon however, one could almost always appear diligently studious. Almost always.   
  
Lex considered the fated word in question: kind of ironic really. He felt sure Mr. Kent would find an unsurprising connection there, somewhere. Closing his eyes, Lex raised his index finger and tried again, same page. It landed almost opposite: "nitwit, a stupid person". He chuckled to himself, tapping the page lightly with his fingers. Oh yes, far more apt. Jonathan Kent would have a field day trying to decide between the two.   
  
The digital beeping at his wrist brought his attention back to the present. Sighing heavily and rubbing a tired hand over his forehead, the youngest member of the Luthor dynasty dragged his eyes up to the screen. That report wasn't writing itself and one a.m. had just been and gone, flitting away into the other, lost hours of the night. Nothing new for Lex Luthor, there. Wild nights in Metropolis rarely even started by one in the morning. Of course, he usually had a little 'pick-me-up' or two to keep the old adrenaline pumping - something to tide him over until either the downtown taxi service, the kindly local police, or once in a blue moon, his father dropped him back on his marble-finished doorstep.   
  
Those days were, he considered, thankfully behind him. New remedies had to be relied on: coffee - he needed lots of it. Stretching the kinks out of his back and carefully rotating his stiff neck, he eased himself out of his leather chair. With the staff long since dismissed for the night, he knew that he was left to navigate the expanse of the kitchen on his own.  
  
Lex padded lightly over first polished, then thickly carpeted, then finally, tiled floors until he was standing in the doorway of his kitchen - not that it felt like his. In fact, he almost felt like an intruder in somebody else's territory whenever he ventured inside. Mrs. Kent would probably use that as ammunition that he didn't eat enough and take care of himself properly. Mr. Kent would almost certainly use it as further proof that Lex was arrogant, stuck-up and not in touch with the rest of the world ('the rest of the world' in Jonathan Kent's book of course, meaning the vast entirety of Smallville - his pride and joy). Pete Ross would no doubt second that opinion with all the enthusiasm and conviction that only a Judge's son could muster. Perhaps Lana Lang would be a little more understanding. Clark would just think it amusing and shake his head in that 'mock-desperation' way that he'd developed whenever he laughed at Lex's apparent 'eccentricities'. As for Chloe Sullivan...he paused a moment. He wasn't exactly sure what she'd make of it - maybe just analyse, categorise it and store it up in the archives of her mind, for possible future use.   
  
The light switch was somewhere off to the right of the door. After fumbling a hand, blindly around the wall for a moment, his fingers came upon the smooth array of switches. Apparently you needed an undergraduate course in electronics in order to operate the lights in Lex Luthor's kitchen, but Lex himself, was satisfied with randomly clicking a few down and hoping for any source of light. A few, sporadic spotlights blinked to life and illuminated a spotless mix of stainless steel and ceramic. Hardly 'homely' or 'warm' - he imagined the cosy, family kitchens of those he was lucky enough to know well in Smallville. His friends might think twice about going downstairs for a glass of water in the middle of the night, if this was what they were walking in to.   
  
"Coffee...coffee," he muttered to himself as he walked past the shelves and cupboards, perfectly aware of how ridiculous one sounds when they indulge in muttering to themselves. The almost floor to ceiling shelves and cupboards weren't proving particularly fruitful. The repeated creaking sound of opening and shutting was also beginning to fray on his weary nerves.  
Perhaps if he could find the kettle. Logic would suggest that the coffee wouldn't be far away. Skirting across the sleek floor, Lex scanned the surfaces of the opposite wall, fairly certain that, unless the kitchen staff had randomly rearranged the appliances (which they were sometimes known to do) that he knew where the kettle was kept.  
  
Sure enough, his hard work paid off. There, sitting like a little flag planted at the top of a great mountain, was the kettle. After taking a moment to fill it and set it boiling, Lex resumed his earlier task. An empty jar of 'Tasters Choice' lay on its side next to a pile of other glass objects that he assumed were for recycling. So, where were the new supplies stored? Next to him, the kettle began to boil, so he busied himself with arranging a mug and spoon. As he cast his gaze upwards, the young man's eyes fell on the grocery boxes and jars of goods, stacked on the top shelves.   
Bingo. Now, to find a stepladder, fill up on caffeine and get back to work. There was a little utilities closet off to the side. One quick look inside found what he was looking for and, after dragging it out, he set it up carefully, by the shelf. As he started to climb, Lex chuckled softly to himself. Clark would have a good laugh about this. So much trouble for a cup of coffee? 'I could almost write a ballard or an epic poem about it,' he thought, wryly. 'The Ballard of the Luthors and the Epic Coffee Hunt.' They'd be singing it in Smallville for years.  
  
He winced slightly at the combination of cold steel and hard grooves of the steps on his bare feet. He was almost at the right shelf so he reached out a hand to grab the jar that he could see, beaming at him. 'Hmm', he thought to himself. It was a little further away than he had judged. Shifting his weight on to one foot, he grabbed a hold of the ladder with one hand and leant, as far as he dared over to the side. His fingers grazed the edge of the jar and he quickly coaxed it into his grasp. However, as he was doing this, the pressure on his one supporting foot, was becoming extremely irritating. "Damn it!" he swore to himself. What was this ladder made out of? Serrated metal? And when did it suddenly become painfully freezing to the touch? Instinctively, he clenched the muscles up in the sole of his foot and just as quickly regretted it as a sharp, painful cramp clenched it.   
  
Jerking his only steadying foot, off the ladder was, in hindsight, a rather stupid mistake. As the ladder rocked and the prized jar of coffee slipped out of his hands and smashed to pieces on the floor beneath him, Lex barely had time to mutter a terse "Shit!" before he toppled, unceremoniously to the floor.   
  
Thankfully avoiding landing on any of the scattered shards of glass, Lex nevertheless hissed in pain as the back of his head, thudded against the edge of the stainless steel work-surface on the way down. The rest of him landed surprisingly gracefully on his side and for a moment, he just lay there, catching his breath and cursing softly over and over. This was definitely not something that people were ever going to hear about. Lex Luthor getting lost in his own kitchen was mildly embarrassing. Lex Luthor falling off a ladder whilst desperately trying to find some coffee was a secret that would stay between himself, the broken coffee jar and those four walls.   
  
With a slight groan, he rolled himself carefully onto his back and eased himself up into a sitting position. Gently, he rubbed a hand to the back of his skull. He couldn't feel any blood but he knew he was going to have one hell of a headache in the morning, not to mention the bruises that would no doubt be decorating his pale sides. Lex stood, slowly and surveyed the damage. After clearing away the fallen ladder, making a mental note to personally put it out for recycling, he grabbed a dustpan and brush and, with no thought to his image, began to clear away the remnants of his excursion. Not a single shred of evidence must remain, he thought to himself even as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The headache had already begun and his thoughts now turned to aspirin - lots of it. He sighed, heavily. With images of a progress report floating in the back of his thumping head, this was truly going to be a night to remember.  
That's it for the moment, folks! More on the way and feedback will be framed and mounted next to the moose's head. 


	2. Chapter 2

On an Average Day - Part 2  
By: Polly  
Disclaimer in part 1  
Feedback is greatly appreciated!  
Enjoy!  
"See you! I'll call you tonight," Clark called. He raised his hand and gave a short wave to Chloe and Pete, as the school bus drove out of sight. He could just make out their faces through the window, as one turned to the other and resumed their mock-debate on the issues of Pop-tarts versus Cheerios and the inter-relating decline of America's youth. Clark had been a non-starter on that conversation: he usually just had Cornflakes, so he had been content to sit back and let the scene unfold. Whether a spectator or a participant, Chloe and Pete's conversations were what often made the bus rides worth the hassle. Afterall, when you had the ability to be lounging on your couch so soon after last bell has rung, that the faculty would still be wiping down the white boards and straightening desks, you sometimes needed a very good incentive to crawl back with the rest of the student body. Luckily, his two best friends fit the bill perfectly.   
  
Shifting his backpack on his shoulder, Clark sauntered over to the kitchen door, throwing his bag down onto the table as he entered. The smell of his mother's cooking wafted over to him and he couldn't help but inhale deeply. Cinnamon rolls if he wasn't mistaken. He hoped some of them were for family consumption and not just for the Talon. It would be very stupid to get jealous of a coffee bar but darn it, if they took away his cinnamon rolls then it might just come to that.   
  
"Hey, Mom! I'm home."  
"Oh hey, Honey. How was school?" Martha Kent emerged from the den, a pile of letters in her hands. As she kissed him lightly on the cheek, she began sifting through the mail.   
"OK, I guess. Got an A on my chemistry test. Well, A- really but..."  
"That's great, Clark. You know your father and I are always proud of your grades." Though her tone was sincere, it was clear that her attention was a little further away than her son's budding career in chemistry. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly as she read the front of one of the envelopes and she quickly pocketed it before turning her attention back to the rest of the wad. Clark's sharp eyes noticed this and immediately he tried to push back his curiosity. His mother's mail was his mother's business. Still, it wasn't like her to be secretive about anything. Martha was almost renowned for her honesty and openness and he couldn't help but wonder...  
'God, I'm becoming as curious as Lex. Let it go, Clark,' he silently commanded.   
  
"Steve's kinda late with the mail today, isn't he?" Clark asked as he opened the fridge door and helped himself to some leftover chocolate cake, whilst pouring himself a large glass of orange juice. His mother couldn't help but frown at cake before dinner, but she let it pass without comment. Instead she replied, absently,  
"Oh we've had this morning's post - you got a letter from Billy, by the way - no, this was delivered to the Kellerman's down the road, by mistake. Apparently they've been away for a few weeks and this has all been building up on their doormat. I don't know what was happening there. Mr. Kellerman dropped it round this afternoon while he was walking Ginger." Clark perched on the kitchen table, careful not to jog the mixing bowl.  
"Anything for me?"  
  
Martha glanced up at him and smiled. "Sorry, Sweetheart - just bills and junk mail. Though," she began, a twinkle in her eye, "if you'd like 20% off your next free makeover then you're more than welcome to have this..."  
"That's OK, Mom!" Clark declared, his hands up in mock surrender. "I think what my image needs is a motorcycle and leather jacket, not eyeliner and a soft focus lens." He grinned, good-naturedly.   
"How about we makeover the trash can with it?"  
"Sounds good, Mom." As Martha binned the offending junk mail, Clark grabbed his plate and glass and headed into the den, in search of the remote. "Where's dad?"  
"Hmm? Oh, he's checking on some of the herd in the top field. Harry Warner says they were acting kind of strange as he walked by yesterday."  
  
Flopping down onto the couch and punching the on-switch on the remote, Clark looked up, one eyebrow raised. "'Smallville' strange or..." . He trailed off, not really needing to be any clearer. His mother gave a small shrug as she perched herself on the arm of the couch. "I don't know. Probably just a little agitated but it never hurts to check." Sliding down, gracefully until she was sitting next to him, Martha tapped him lightly on the knee.   
  
"So, cake, TV, feet on my recently polished coffee table," - the aforementioned feet were quickly removed, with an approving nod from his mother - "your priorities turning towards your chores any time soon? Like, before your father gets back?" Clark looked into her eyes, sheepishly.   
"Could we call this 'A in chemistry cake' and ...well, 'Day that ends in 'Y' TV' and I'll do my chores really quick after that?" he asked, hopefully. Martha smiled in defeat. She never could resist long when he used those dark eyes on her. "Your TV's got as long as the cake, mister."  
"Understood," he grinned. "I guess this means I'll have to chew this time."  
"Oh, you!" she exclaimed, slapping him on the leg, lightly as she got up to return to the kitchen.  
  
Though Clark wasn't sure, he thought he heard his mother dial a number from the kitchen phone and speak to whoever was on the other end in a hushed tone but he couldn't tell any more because she stepped outside into the open. Listening any further would have been blatantly prying and he had enough respect to know that was totally out of the question. Besides, MTV was back from ad breaks and his cake was rapidly disappearing on him.  
  
***  
  
The Board of Directors had called a five-minute recess. It wasn't a moment too soon. As soon as Lex was able to duck out of the boardroom and into the bathroom, he quickly popped the lid of the aspirin and downed another two, not bothering with water to ease its passage. His head had been slowly and painfully thudding all day and though he was taking as many aspirin that the right side of overdosing would allow, it had done nothing for the pressure in his head that had been building all day.   
  
Letting out a slow, calming breath he gently leaned forward until his forehead rested lightly against the cool glass of the mirror. The lower temperature went a little way to soothing the internal pounding but what he really wanted was an icepack. Not that something like that could be surreptitiously brought into an annual board meeting. That, of course, meant there was no chance of that particular remedy until he made it home.  
  
A shrill ringing from his coat pocket jerked his head back up. Scowling at the intensity of the sound, Lex quickly pulled out his phone and flipped it open.  
"Hello?" he asked, crossly. The voice on the other end did nothing to alleviate his ill temper.   
  
"Lex? Why aren't you in the meeting?"  
  
"Dad, if you thought I was going to be in the meeting right now then why the hell did you bother calling?" Lex snapped. On a better day, he might have been in the mood for some verbal sparring: but not today. Lionel must have noted his son's drop in wit and repartee by the slight pause at the other end of the line. After all, it was quite rare for Lex, hotheaded as he could be, to actually resort to snapping and cursing during a conversation.   
  
"I take it we had a late night last night?" Lionel enquired, evenly. "I hope this means the report was finished on time."  
  
Lex sighed and pressed the phone a little closer to his ear. His father must be ringing from the damned car-phone again because he was so distant, Lex could barely hear him. "You know perfectly well that it was. It was in your inbox before your morning coffee and croissant. Or have you broken the habit of my life-time and actually neglected an item on your daily agenda?" His father decided to ignore the jibe.   
  
"Just checking to make sure things are going smoothly, Lex. Sometimes I wonder what affects that strange little town is having on you."  
  
"Well everything's just dandy, thank-you. Was there anything else?" The older Luthor's voice was now thin and tinny through the receiver and it was all Lex could do to strain to hear him: definitely not helping his head.   
  
"No, nothing. Shouldn't you be getting back to the meeting, Lex?"  
  
"What? You're going to have to speak up if you're going to call from the car."  
  
"I'm not speaking from the mobile, Lex. I'm in my study."  
  
"Well check your phone then because works like shit."  
  
He could almost see his father's frown but oddly enough he was too irritated to take any pleasure from it. "Well, thank-you for your well-crafted advice, son. Do you think we could mind our language?"  
  
"Probably." With that, he shut off the connection and switched his phone off. In all likelihood, it was probably his own phone that had the bad connection but it was more comforting to blame it on his father. He glanced down at his watch. Time to face the music again. Taking one more moment to splash cold water on his face and massage his stiff neck, Lex smoothly towelled off the excess water and made his way back into the endless meeting from Hell.   
Chapter 3 on it's way! 


	3. Chapter 3

On an Average Day - Part 3  
By: Polly  
See part 1 for disclaimer  
Summary: Lex's symptoms come to a head...  
Feedback - pretty please...  
Jonathan Kent whistled a tune from his younger days as he strode back towards the farm. As he approached, he noted with satisfaction, the sound of Clark fixing up the engine on the old tractor. It had been giving him grief for weeks and had finally given up the ghost a couple of days ago. It seemed to be turning over nicely now, though. There were times when Jonathan wondered just how they would manage on the farm without the aid of their son and his alien powers. Probably not the use for them that God had intended but they would have to do for now. Clark also had a knack of finding his own way to use them - usually to the addition of premature grey hairs for his parents but those were just the risks that every parent took.   
  
Well, maybe not quite in the same way. He was pretty sure that Mr and Mrs Ross had never sat up worrying about their son's sudden ability to see through walls or crackpot fortune-tellers who paint far-off pictures of inescapable destinies. Still, he and Martha were now just as adept at handling the ups and downs of developing super powers as any other parent was at handling the latest throws of teenage adolescence.   
  
"Sounding good, Clark," he called to his son as he walked past. Clark looked up from under the hood and gave him the patented Kent grin. "Thanks, dad. It's pretty easy to find the problem when you can see through objects."  
Jonathan chuckled, "Yeah, I guess it would be. Have you done the fence yet?"  
Clark shut the hood, firmly. "Yep - first thing I did."  
"Good - thanks. You'd better get cleaned up then. From the smell of things, your mother's just about got dinner ready and you know what she's like for food and engine grease." They exchanged a knowing glance, both having made that mistake once - and once only.   
"Be in, in a minute."  
"Honey! Something smells good." As he entered the kitchen, he peeked under the lid of one of the pans. "Martha?" he called again. Mildly surprised, he left the kitchen and wandered into the den. She wasn't there, either.   
  
"Martha? Honey? You upstairs?" Putting his working gloves down on the hall table, he made his way upstairs and into their bedroom. Sure enough, Martha was sitting on the bed, the phone lying beside her. She looked up quickly when she heard the door open but relaxed a little when she saw who it was.   
"Jonathan, I didn't hear you come in." He glanced at her, taking in the scene before him and the obvious agitation on his wife's face. Trying not to appear concerned, he crossed to the bed and sat down next to her. "Obviously. Dinner looks good, by the way. Those cinnamon rolls for us?" She gave him a small smile.   
"Some are - the others are for the Talon. Oh, and for Lex - he has some kind of meeting this week that he needs them for. I said he could stop by quickly before dinner to pick them up. Is that alright?"  
  
"Sure, Sweetheart."   
  
He told himself that if agreeing without a fight would make his unusually agitated wife, happy then it was OK by him. If he were being completely honest though, Jonathan would have to admit that lately, he and Clark's best friend had been on better terms than normal. His continued presence in his son's life was still something that Clark should be mindful of, but had become acceptable in the older Kent's eyes. Despite the unfortunate association of an undoubtedly untrustworthy name, Lex was basically a good enough kid and, as his wife and son regularly pointed out, treating him like a criminal was only going to make him act like one. So, for the time being at least, Lex Luthor was elevated to a position somewhere above 'evil of biblical proportions'. That honour was held by his father alone.  
  
"Martha? I can't help wondering...is everything alright? You seem a little...distracted." He looked at her carefully, trying to gauge a reaction. She looked at him, sharply.  
  
"Where's Clark?" she asked, looking around them as if he were about to spring out of the closet.   
  
"He's outside, finishing up on the tractor. Why? What's going on?" Martha hesitated a moment, before pulling out the, now slightly crumpled, letter from her pocket and showing it to Jonathan.   
  
"This came today. It was part of the mail that was delivered to the Kellermans by mistake." Jonathan took the letter from her hand and cast his gaze over the postmark. His eyes widened slightly in recognition. He could feel something tighten in his gut.   
  
"OK...this is fine. We'll just have to deal with it, that's all. It's not bad - just a bit of a surprise." He gently began rubbing her shoulders in a soothing manner. "We don't have to worry about this, Martha." Gently laying a kiss on the side of her neck, he leaned into her. Martha was always amazed at this man that she had married. No matter what the situation, he could always find a way to smooth away any worries that she had - make her see a situation in terms of directions and distances, not complicated, twisted mazes.  
  
"You're right," she murmured, leaning back against him.   
  
"Of course," he agreed, a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"And just a little big-headed," Martha returned, smiling.  
  
"Just a little, huh?" His strong arms encircled her waist and he pulled her towards him, eliciting a stifled giggle from his wife. Martha was about to answer him when the noise of a car's engine approaching their yard, drew their attention away.  
  
Jonathan frowned slightly at the noise, left the bed and moved to look out of the window. "It can't be!" he exclaimed, in mock horror. "It looks like Lex Luthor, it sounds like Lex Luthor, but where is the noise of screeching tyres and burning rubber?" Martha joined him by the window, wrapping an arm casually round his waist. "I didn't hear anything, Hon."  
Jonathan pretended to stagger, in apparent shock. "Good God, Martha! Sound the alarm - Lex Luthor has just driven into our yard in a responsible manner! Check and see he's not dragging the body of an opponent behind him, or something." Martha let out a laugh and shoved him playfully in the chest.   
  
"Jonathan! You promised!"  
  
"I know, I know! But Sweetie, if I can't throw the occasional jibe at him when he's not even here, then honestly! What's a poor man to do?"  
  
"Mom! Dad! Lex is here." Clark's voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs and both adults shared one last smile at the joke before moving downstairs.  
  
"Hi, Lex," Martha greeted as the young man hovered in the kitchen doorway. "You can come in, you know. I'll just get those rolls in a tin for you." Lex smiled, graciously and, Martha noted, a little tightly as though it were taking more effort than usual today.   
  
"Thanks, Mrs Kent." He was still dressed in his suit and was desperate to get back home, change and fix himself an icepack but there was always something naturally soothing about being in the Kent household that it didn't seem too bad, waiting there for a minute.   
"They're just out of the oven - best time to try them." Lex wandered over to the middle counter and rested gently against it. "They look great, but I'm afraid I'm not that hungry at the moment. I'll be sure to try one when I get home, though."   
  
"That meeting looks like it was a bit rough today," Clark observed, leaning beside Lex on the counter. "You get that report finished ok last night?"  
"Just. But it IS done and my father can relax. I haven't totally driven LuthorCorp into the ground just yet. What about you? How'd you do on that chemistry test?"  
"Oh yeah - pretty good. Got an A minus."  
Lex smiled his first genuine smile that day. "Clark, that's great! Congratulations."  
Clark grinned, bashfully, aware that his father's attention was also on him at that moment. "Yeah, well...those tips you gave me really worked. I never thought of remembering chemical bonds that way."  
"The scintillating things you can learn from me, Clark," Lex agreed with a smirk.   
  
"Well, it's something I don't have an objection to," Jonathan put in, mildly. "Just don't go teaching him how to build a device that'll lead to the evacuation of Smallville."  
  
"You have my word, Sir. We can start with powering an alarm clock from a potato."  
  
"That's more like it," Jonathan said, approvingly.  
  
"You can power a clock from a potato?" Clark asked, genuinely curious.   
  
"Sorry? What was that? Lex asked, a frown crossing his face briefly.  
  
"A clock? From a potato?" Lex was looking at him rather strangely.  
  
"Um, yeah... I mean yes. Yes, you can."  
  
"Lex? Everything OK?" Lex pushed Clark's question away. The intense pain in his head was still eating away at his senses but now a distinct ringing in his ears was making him cautious. His grip on the counter tightened as he felt the first wave of dizziness wash over him.  
  
"Lex?"   
  
"Everything's fine, Clark," he lied. He was sure it would be, however - if he could just make it back to the mansion. Perhaps he would call Dr. Collins? After all, it wouldn't do to have his ears ringing while he was trying to host a meeting. If he could just collect the rolls then he could be out of there. At that moment, Mrs. Kent approached him and laid a hand carefully on his shoulder. He barely noticed the contact. The ringing was getting louder and his vision beginning to blur. Objects swayed in front of him and his friend's voices were muffled and distant. The car, he thought to himself. He HAD to get to the car. He could call from his mobile - get someone to pick him up. He WOULD NOT collapse in his friend's house.  
  
"Lex?" If he had been aware of his surroundings, Lex would have been mildly surprised that the concerned voice this time, was from Jonathan Kent who had moved to stand by him, with his wife and son. Martha had placed the tin of cinnamon rolls on the side and had her hand on the young Luthor's forehead.  
  
"He doesn't feel hot," she commented. "Lex," she tried again, "what's wrong? What are you feeling?"  
  
"We should get him to the couch," Jonathan suggested. "He needs to sit down. Clark, go clear the papers off the couch, would you?" Hesitant to leave his friend, Clark nevertheless quickly moved to do as he was instructed.  
  
Even as he felt himself leaning in to Jonathan Kent, Lex still forced out a distant, "Fine...little...dizzy...be...ok...just...need...car...". All three Kents exchanged the same look: Lex Luthor and 'car' were not going in the same sentence today, no matter what protests the young man managed to force out.   
Lex was aware of two things: firstly, Jonathan Kent was holding him upright and this was not good. Secondly, the ringing in his ears was now so loud that he officially couldn't hear any other noises around him.   
  
Taking the chance that his voice was still producing noise, even if he couldn't hear it himself, Lex managed to get out one last communiqué. "Head...rings...I'm...fine". With that, he summoned all of his strength and will power and pushed himself away from Mr Kent.   
  
All three Kents looked on in shock, as Lex tumbled, unconscious, to their kitchen floor.  
Chapter 4 is on the way! Thanks for reading this far and please let me know what you think. 


	4. Chapter 4

On an Average Day - Chapter 4  
See part one for disclaimer  
A/N at the end of chapter  
Hope you guys enjoy  
Summary: Lionel and the Kents have an interesting...discussion :-)  
  
***  
  
For Clark, the ambulance couldn't get there quickly enough. He could have gotten   
Lex to that hospital in under the time it would have taken to finish the call to the   
emergency services. It was only due to his parent's arguments that he had relented.   
After all, if this was some kind of head injury, then the last thing Lex needed was to   
be bounced and bumped around on the way to the hospital, especially at the speeds   
Clark was going to be running at. Fast transport, he may be, but for comfort and   
safety restraints, he left a lot to be desired.  
  
On arrival, they had been briefly questioned as to everything that had occurred up   
until his collapse but none of them had been particularly helpful. Lex had been   
feeling fine in the preceding days; he'd been acting relatively normally that afternoon.   
All they could do was recall the details of his strange conversations once it was   
obvious he was feeling ill. So apart from the ringing in his ears and his headache,   
there wasn't an awful lot of information to be given.   
  
They were currently biding their time in the hospital waiting room, Clark anxiously   
pacing while his parents sat on the plastic chairs nearby. Luke-warm cups of coffee   
sat, either in tense hands or on the magazine-cluttered little table. Jonathan had a   
hand very gently resting on his wife's knee. Neither one said much to the other, each   
more or less occupied by their own thoughts, welcome or otherwise.   
  
To varying degrees, they found themselves considering the fate of the young man,   
currently undergoing treatment in the ER. Clark felt tiny pricks of guilt stab at him at   
not noticing something was wrong with his friend earlier. Martha felt the particular   
worry that only mothers feel over the young, mixed in with a sliver of guilt that the   
young man in question, had no such person to worry for him on a regular basis.   
Jonathan felt guilty for still worrying about the work on the farm that should be done   
that night. He couldn't help it: work didn't stop just because Clark's friend collapsed.   
Sure, he didn't want the kid to be in danger, but Lex Luthor suffered some kind of   
head injury...well, almost every week, it seemed. He surely must be practically   
immune to it by now.  
  
"How much longer?" Clark's tense voice, broke through their thoughts. Martha   
looked up at him and smiled in what she hoped was a comforting manner.   
Wordlessly, she held out a hand to him and he responded, moving to take it and sit   
down heavily, in the chair next to her. "The doctors will tell us when there's any   
change, Clark. I know it's hard but we just have to keep being patient. There really is   
nothing that we can do now."  
  
"But why do you think it's been so long? He was brought in nearly an hour ago."  
  
"Son, we don't know how busy the doctors may be right now," Jonathan tried to   
reason. "I'm sure they'll send someone out as soon as they can. Besides," he added,   
"no news doesn't necessarily mean bad news. They could just be doing some extra   
tests, to be cautious." Even as the words left his lips, he knew how hollow they   
sounded. Still, it was what Clark needed to hear right then and that's what mattered.  
  
Clark let out a ragged breath and tried to lean back in his chair. It felt too small for   
him. Or maybe it was his need to be DOING something that was making his personal   
space seem so...cramped. Absently, he played with the frayed rim of his long, blue   
shirt. Martha's hand still lightly rested on his own and he made no move to break the   
contact. It was warm and close and REAL. A sudden thought made him glance up in   
concern.   
  
"But what if they don't realise we're still here? Or what if they don't know we want   
to be told? Will they only give out that kind of information to his family?"  
  
Jonathan and Martha exchanged glances. After a pause, his father ventured a   
response. "I suppose it is possible, Martha," he admitted, directing his answer more   
to his wife than to Clark. They both glanced towards the door that led to the   
hospital's reception desk, clearly wondering if it might be worth talking to the   
receptionist again. However, before they could upset Clark any more than necessary,   
Jonathan abruptly changed his mind. "No. We've been here all this time - they   
TOLD us to wait in here. They know where we are and I'm sure they'll update us   
with any news - they know we're the ones who brought him in." He looked Clark   
squarely in the eyes. "Don't worry, Clark. They haven't forgotten us." He waited   
until Clark had given him a slight nod of acceptance before he broke the eye contact   
with his son.  
  
It wasn't that he thought Clark was overly vulnerable at this point: it was in fact, more   
the opposite. He knew what the boy could get like when he was frustrated or worried.   
If they didn't calm their son down and alleviate his concerns, then who knew what   
Clark would do to get to his friend? Jonathan didn't much fancy explaining how   
Clark had managed to barge into Intensive Care or avoid any of the security cameras.  
  
Satisfied that, for the moment, Clark would stay put, Jonathan relaxed a little. He   
looked down, questioningly however, as he felt Martha squeeze his hand, ever so   
gently. She leaned a little closer into him as she spoke softly. "They ARE going to   
want to speak to his family, Jonathan. Lex may have a history of this that Lionel   
might be able to inform them of." Beneath the slightly weathered skin of her   
husband's hand, she could feel his muscles tense at the mention of Luthor Senior.   
"Well, I suppose if they're going to call him, then they would have by now," he   
answered tightly.  
  
"Do you suppose they know the number?" Clark wondered. Jonathan's smile was not   
at all pleasant.  
"I'm pretty sure EVERYONE knows Lionel Luthor's number."  
"I don't think Lex would even want him here."  
"Maybe not, Clark," Martha interjected, "but he may be able to help." Clark decided   
to let it pass without comment. He was fairly certain that whatever his friend's   
condition, the last thing he would want OR need would be the man who called himself   
his father, swooping round his hospital bed like a vulture round carrion.   
  
At that moment, the door to the waiting room swung open. Three pairs of eyes fell   
upon the man who had just entered, apparently fresh from the O.R. His impressive   
height and stature could have made him an imposing character, if not for the patient,   
gentle features of his face. This was a man, schooled in the art of breaking painful   
news in the least painful way possible and Clark wasn't at all sure that he liked the   
man's expression. He seemed to take a moment to size them up, before addressing   
Jonathan and Martha.  
  
"I'm Doctor Williams. Are you the family that came in with Lex Luthor?"  
Martha spoke for them. "Yes. Can you tell us how he is, please? Is he alright?"  
All three Kents had risen to form a semicircle around the newcomer. It was all Clark   
could do to restrain himself and not shake the information he wanted right out of the   
man's head. He could feel himself holding his breath.  
  
Dr. Williams raised his hands slightly. "Now, he's fine - he's going to be. We've   
stabilised his condition and we're going to be moving him in to recovery any time   
now."  
  
"Can I see him?" Clark interrupted. Doctor Williams shot him a sympathetic glance.  
"I'm sorry - not until he's settled in."   
"What was wrong with him?" Jonathan wanted to know. "He seemed to be fine one   
minute and then he was on the floor the next."  
  
"He was suffering from a build up of increased intracranial pressure," Williams   
explained, patiently. "The pressure was decreasing blood flow to the brain, causing   
the dizziness, headaches, vision problems."   
  
"But," Clark began, already taking in the news, "how? I mean that sort of thing   
doesn't just happen for no reason, does it?" The doctor shook his head.   
"In a case like this, we would normally look for evidence of blood clots, infections or   
head traumas."  
  
"Well which one was it?" Martha asked, anxiously.  
"We detected no evidence of an infection or a clot, but a CT scan revealed a recent   
injury. It would have appeared slight at the time, but it could well have triggered a   
build-up in blood pressure. It would only have got worse as time went on." Jonathan   
exchanged a curious look with Clark. "Well," he began, slowly, "as far as I know,   
no-one's tried to knock him out recently. Do you know anything about this, Clark?"   
At Clark's shake of 'no', Jonathan continued. "I'm guessing Lex kept this to himself   
then."  
  
"But you say he's alright now?" Martha demanded, brushing a hand through her   
auburn hair. Doctor Williams gestured to the seats behind them.   
  
"Why don't we all sit down?" he suggested. With no better options at that moment,   
they moved to do just that. When they were all more or less seated, he continued.   
"He'll be fine. We've had to perform a trepanation. Now that involved drilling a   
small hole into the skull to alleviate the pressure." He held up a hand to forestall the   
protest he could see forming on Clark's lips. "It had nothing to do with entering the   
brain - it was just to help release the build-up inside his skull. If it had been allowed   
to continue then it may have damaged the brain. Now that's not always the case but   
I'm sure everyone would rather have been safe than sorry.   
  
But the good news, is that, if Mr. Luthor observes a careful recovery process, then   
with adequate check-ups, he should be back on his feet in a month or so."  
  
Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by the recovery process? Will he   
have to spend it in hospital?" Because if he does, keeping Clark in school during the   
day is going to be a nightmare, he added silently.   
  
"No. There really isn't any need for him to remain in hospital long term. Obviously   
we'll keep him in for tonight for observation but after that, he's free to return home   
under supervision."  
  
"Supervision?" Clark questioned. He couldn't help smiling at that one. "Lex is   
gonna LOVE that!" Finally - something that the farm kid could tease the rich kid   
about.  
  
"Clark," Martha admonished, gently, though she couldn't help the affectionate smile   
that tugged at her lips at the thought.   
  
Doctor Williams continued. "Re-occurrences don't happen with every patient but   
they ARE known. For about the next month, Lex will need to take it easy. Staring at   
computer monitors is never good for anyone's head, much less someone who should   
be resting their eyes, ears and head. He should try to avoid high and low altitudes and   
any kind of vigorous activity. He may find he gets dizzy spells if he does that. Other   
than that, regular follow-up sessions to check his pressure should do the trick."  
  
Martha leaned back in her chair and breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, that's good to   
know," she exclaimed. She turned to Jonathan and they shared a brief smile.   
"Honey," she began, quietly, "why don't you head on back to the farm? Clark and I   
can stay here a little longer. I'd like see if I can to talk to Lex before we go."   
Jonathan looked almost reluctant but he couldn't deny that there was work on the   
farm that he really should get back to, before the encroaching darkness made it near   
impossible.   
  
"You call if you and Clark need anything," he insisted. "I'll swing by and pick you   
up when you give the word. OK, Clark?" He gave his son's shoulder's a reassuring   
squeeze but it was clear that the tension was already beginning to leave the young   
man.  
  
"Okay, Dad. Thanks...for sticking around, you know?" Jonathan's smile was   
genuine this time.   
  
"I hope you get to talk to him, but if not there's still tomorrow."  
  
He stood up and his family and Doctor Williams stood with him. "Thanks for your   
help, Doctor," he said, shaking the other man's hand. It was apparent that Williams   
also had other places to be.   
  
As Jonathan moved to the door, he was surprised however to see it open for him. A   
young nurse's aid walked in, stopping short when she saw everyone crowded so near   
to the doorway. "Yes, Maggie?"   
  
"Uh, Doctor Williams? There's a man in Reception...Mr. Luthor...he's demanding   
that we get his son ready for travel immediately. He says he has a helicopter waiting   
to take him back to Metropolis." From Doctor William's incredulous expression, it   
was clear that if he had heard of the Luthors at all, then he'd certainly never had any   
personal dealings with them. Jonathan and Martha couldn't help rolling their eyes in   
exasperation. Clark just looked from adult to adult, wondering if Lionel could   
actually do this.  
  
Martha squeezed Jonathan's arm. "Maybe now is a good time to make your exit,   
Hon?" The last thing her tired husband needed was an accidental brush with Lionel   
Luthor. Lex wouldn't be the only one with elevated blood pressure. Jonathan,   
however, appeared to be wavering.   
  
"I'm coming now, Maggie," said the doctor, striding out of the waiting room. Not   
wanting to miss this, all three Kents followed on his heels, both parents surreptitiously   
placing a gently restraining hand on their son's arms.   
  
There, waiting impatiently stood Lionel Luthor, his creased brow in stark contrast to   
his pressed, flawless suit. His eyes widened momentarily in surprise when he saw   
who was following the doctor and that inept girl who had been sent on his errand, but   
he said nothing to them. Instead, he began issuing orders straight away to the   
approaching doctor.  
  
"Ah, good. Now there seems to be some delay in producing my son. I take it his   
insurance is all in order?" Not waiting for answer, he continued smoothly, "so in that   
case, prepare him for travelling please and let me sign the release forms. Are these   
them here?" he asked, leafing through some papers attached to the clipboard that held   
his son's medical notes. The receptionist quickly shook her head in answer to his   
question and gathered the papers under the counter, away from his reach.   
  
Doctor Williams had taken a calming breath before he spoke. "Mr. Luthor, I'm   
Doctor Williams and I've been treating your son. I don't know what impression   
you've been given but I'm afraid your son will not be fit for travel today and certainly   
not in a helicopter." Lionel's expression darkened but either Williams didn't notice or   
didn't care. "Your son has had an operation to relieve intracranial pressure that's   
been building up in his skull recently." The lack of expression on the face of his   
patient's father was alarming compared to the concerned expressions worn by the   
Luthor boy's friends moments ago. "An increase in altitude could be very dangerous   
at this stage." Still, the elder Luthor's face was the picture of discontent.  
  
"You would be running the risk of brain damage and I will not discharge him   
tonight." His voice was firm and unmoving. This Lionel Luthor may consider   
himself God in whatever place he was from, but when it came to the lives of his   
patients, even men like this wouldn't stand in his way.   
  
Lionel's eyes were a cooler shade of ice. "I trust, Doctor, that you are unaware of   
who I am. Now, I have a medical team waiting at Metropolis who will no doubt see   
to whatever needs my son may have during his stay."  
  
At this, Clark couldn't help but pipe up. "You're taking him back to Metropolis?"   
For some reason, he had always imagined Lex staying at the mansion. Lionel finally   
turned his attention to the assembled trio. "Ah, young Mr. Kent. Of course. Where   
would you be, if not with my son? Yes, that would be the logical place to care for   
him, wouldn't it?"  
  
"But you're not going to care for him," Clark pointed out, earning him a meaningful   
stare from his mother. "I mean, you've got a nurse to do that. Why couldn't the   
nurse stay with him here at the mansion?"  
  
"He has a point, Mr. Luthor," Martha agreed, gently. "I'm sure Lex would be much   
more comfortable there and we could look in on him from time to time as well."   
  
Lionel's smile was tight. "Well, I appreciate your offer of help, Mrs. Kent but I want   
my son in Metropolis. That's where the nurse is based and I see no need to ship her   
over to Smallville." Again, he turned back to Williams who was beginning to look   
increasingly annoyed. "I'll ask once more, Doctor. You have my assurance that he   
will be fine during the transport. Now I want my son ready within the half hour -   
waiting helicopters aren't as cheap as the local taxi service, you know. I CANNOT   
wait a day to transport him! I have to be in Germany in twenty-four hours for an   
important meeting and I've taken enough time out of my schedule this evening."  
  
Williams had had enough. He was on a double shift that had just gone in to overtime   
and he hadn't seen his wife and son in nearly a day and a half. In the most polite tone   
he could muster under the circumstances, he said. "Listen to me very carefully, Mr.   
Luthor. I AM NOT releasing your son to you today. I don't care WHO you are or   
how much you're paying for your helicopter. My only concern is your son's welfare   
and if that doesn't coincide with your own priorities then I'm afraid that's just tough."   
The Kents were staring, wide eyed at the, what they assumed would be, soon-to-be-   
ex-doctor. "Personally, I wouldn't even release him to you TOMORROW or any day   
after that."  
  
"You won't have to."   
  
All eyes turned in shock, to Jonathan Kent. He stood, arms folded across his chest,   
glowering at Lionel Luthor. If anything brought home to him, the levels that Lionel   
could sink to, it was this. There was no paternal instinct, no instinct for anything   
other than business. If Jonathan were going to expect redeemable and admirable   
qualities from Lex in return for a place in his son's life, then he would be damned   
before he sent him back into the company of wolves - or worse. At least wolves hunt   
in packs - Lionel Luthor was a different kind of hunter altogether.   
  
"I beg you pardon?" Lionel demanded. Inwardly, Williams smiled in relief while   
Clark and Martha exchanged puzzled looks.  
  
"Go on your trip, Luthor. Go to Germany. When he's ready to be released, your   
son's coming home with us. You won't be inconvenienced, you won't be troubled.   
Luthorcorp will continue to thrive. Isn't THAT what matters to you?"  
  
For a moment, no-one spoke. The nurses had made themselves scarce but were   
hiding as close as they could to eavesdrop. The only sound was the hacking cough of   
a heavy smoker and the ticking clock. Finally, Lionel levelled a steady gaze on an   
unwavering Jonathan. "You think me a bad parent, Mr. Kent." It wasn't a question.   
There wasn't a soul living who would dispute it. "What would you have me do?   
Drop everything to tend to my son? If I didn't work, he wouldn't have the security   
that he expects from his future."   
  
For a moment, Clark held his breath. He felt absolutely sure that Luthor would kick   
up a fuss - that he would stand his ground, call in the Big Guns (whoever they might   
be). He was still shocked at his father's offer and half expected him to retract it once   
Lex's father had backed down but at the moment, all he could think about was Lionel.   
If only Lex were conscious now - they could ask him for his opinion. But if Lionel   
somehow succeeded in getting him transported that night...  
  
However, in typical Luthor fashion, he managed to surprise them all. Abruptly he   
turned on his heel, whirling round. As he did so, he called out, "Very well. Take him,   
if you will. I have work to do." Flipping open his mobile, he punched a button and   
waited for a response. "David - bring the car around and call the air-port. I want a   
ticket tonight..."  
The assembled group followed with their eyes as the figure left the hospital and   
climbed in to the waiting car. They listened almost in disbelief as the vehicle pulled   
away and drove out of sight. Finally, Clark turned to his parents. "Did that just   
happen?" Martha nodded, wordlessly. Jonathan now began to feel a little   
embarrassed for his outburst and shuffled slightly from foot to foot. Doctor Williams   
turned to them. "I'd suggest you fellows get home. I don't expect Lex will be ready   
to talk to you tonight. If you'd like to come by tomorrow then I can have the papers   
waiting." He smiled again and then left to carry on with his work.  
  
Once he was out of earshot, Clark turned a worried gaze on his father. "Dad?" he said,   
questioningly, "You were serious weren't you? About Lex? You're not going   
to...well, change your mind, are you?" From the expression on Martha's face, it was   
clear that she had been wondering the exact same thing. After all, she knew perfectly   
well how her husband could make impulsive decisions in the heat of the moment.   
Jonathan was still trying to get his head around the situation. He rubbed a hand across   
his face. "Uh...did I just land us with a houseguest?"  
  
Martha grinned at him. "It sure sounded that way, Sweetheart." Again, he looked a   
little awkward.   
"Well...it would be okay, wouldn't it? I mean, you two don't mind...do you?"   
  
He wasn't even sure that HE wanted the young man with them, but Jonathan knew   
enough to know that if he had made a gut decision, then it was usually for the best.   
Besides, what kind of a man would he appear to his impressionable son if he made a   
laudable decision one minute, only to retract it later on? That would be something   
worthy of the Luthors themselves, not a Kent.   
  
Both Clark and Martha nodded their assent. "I think it was very noble of you,   
Sweetheart," Martha assured him. Clark couldn't help but give his father a crushing   
hug. "Dad, you're the best! Officially!" Laughing, Jonathan pried himself out of his   
son's grasp.   
  
A sudden thought occurred to him. "But, what if Lex insists he's okay on his own?   
What if he doesn't agree?" Martha rubbed his arm, reassuringly.   
"Oh, he'll agree, Clark. Trust me."  
  
Clark simply nodded, not particularly envying his friend when he woke up and tried   
to talk his way out of this one.  
  
***  
Okay, well that's it for now. I'll start work on the next chapter as soon as poss.   
Thanks for seeing it through this far and thanks very much for the reviews!  
  
Koenigsegg: I promise you'll see where I'm leading this soon - let's just say it   
involves hurt/comfort and Lex is going to find himself (innocently) mixed up in the   
business of Martha's secret letter (which will also be explained!) and will of course,   
try to help. He'll probably end up...well, that's for a later chapter! :-) 


	5. Chapter 5

On An Average Day – Part 5  
By: Polly  
Summary – Lex meets his match  
Rating: G (a couple of minor curses – nothing big)  
  
A/N – thanks for all the great feedback – you guys are the best! Anyway, hope you   
enjoy and as always, I'd love to hear what you think.  
The steady beeping sound of a monitor was what greeted a groggy Lex Luthor on his   
return to the conscious world. For a moment, he was content to let the rhythmic   
patterns wash over him. There had been no question in his mind as to what the noise   
had been or what it had meant. He knew of people for whom waking up in a hospital   
bed was a disorientating and frightening experience. For Lex, however, it felt almost   
old hand. Not that he enjoyed any moment of it – far from it. But, over the years he   
had developed his 'hospital mentality'. He knew all the tricks – the times to deceive   
the medical staff with glib tongues and bribes and the times to exert more 'heavy   
handed' methods of persuasion. There were a thousand and one different ways to fool   
the doctors. A little honesty here (just enough to make his condition seem credible), a   
covering smile there…   
  
The nurses were easier, of course: knock 'em down with a grin, compliment their   
ability to look beautiful, even under the most stressful of circumstances. By far the   
most effective ploy (though the most repugnant to Lex) was the use of the 'angel'   
metaphor. That was only for extreme circumstances.   
  
As he continued to lie perfectly still, he began to sift through the hazy set of memories   
he held from before winding up…here. There was something about the Kent's   
kitchen…then a pounding head…then a deafening ringing sound. After that, not   
much existed. He could feel a medical gauze attached to the back of his head. When   
he had first woken he had assumed it was part of a rather lumpy pillow but on further   
consideration, his assumption had changed.   
  
Dimly curious as to his diagnosis, Lex nevertheless pushed that thought aside, turning   
his mind to getting out of this place. Whatever had been wrong with him before, he   
felt fine now and there was still work to be done. LuthorCorp didn't grind to a halt   
just because he wound up in hospital.   
  
Through his, still slightly foggy, hearing he could make out the sound of a woman's   
voice. It seemed somehow like it should be familiar to him, though for the time   
being, he couldn't place it. Now, he thought to himself, what to say to this nurse (or   
doctor) when she approached him? Play along with the medical routine – that was   
probably his best bet. Then try The Smile. Right, action decided on, it was time to   
advance.   
  
"Lex?" The voice was coming closer to him. He kept his eyes shut. Funny though –   
they usually called him Mr. Luthor.   
"Lex?" Again, the voice drew closer.  
Another voice now, male this time and…young? "Mom? Is he awake?"  
"It seems so, Honey. I can see his eyelids twitching."  
Damn! No one spotted that before. He must be slipping. Wait a second- 'mom'?   
From deep down inside, Lex knew this didn't sound good.  
  
"Lex? Lex, it's Martha Kent. How are you feeling?"  
  
Bingo. Voice recognition complete. There was nothing left to do but open his eyes.   
Frantically, he tried to run through an alternative game plan. Nurses were one thing.   
Doctor's something else, but Mrs. Kent was in an altogether different league. And   
Clark? That guy could read him like a comic-book and if he felt in the mood to rat   
him out to his mother… The only thing that could make this situation any worse was   
if Mr. Kent himself descended from the farm.   
  
"Clark, he seems to be a little slow waking up. Why don't you go and ask your father   
to find Doctor Williams?"  
  
"Mrs…Mrs Kent? Is that you? What are you doing here?"  
  
Clark rushed to his side, as Lex's eyes fluttered open. Carefully, he eased a hand   
under his friend's back, helping him into a semi-sitting position. "Lex! You're   
awake! The doctor said some time this morning but we've been here for ages. Mom,   
look – he seems fine."  
  
"Careful, Clark," Martha warned, moving to sit the other side of Lex's bed. "Don't   
move him too quickly. Lex, I think you should lie back down."  
  
"But…" Before he could utter any protests, she had gently but firmly placed a   
restraining hand on his chest and pushed him carefully back down onto the bed.   
Almost immediately, she began to fiddle with his pillows while Clark filled him in on   
everything that had gone on since last night.   
  
"We were so worried after you collapsed in the kitchen," he was busy explaining,   
leaning back against Lex's bed-head as easily as if he were watching TV and chatting   
at a friend's sleepover.  
  
Lex barely suppressed a groan of embarrassment. "I collapsed in your KITCHEN?"   
Clark simply carried on talking, ignoring his friend's mortification. "And then we   
were at the hospital for AGES before they told us you'd got intracranial pressure…"  
  
"Intra-WHAT?"   
  
"…and they'd had to drill a hole in the back of your skull."  
  
Immediately, Lex's hand shot up to feel the back of his head, gingerly patting the   
bandage, as if he were testing the size of the gaping hole he imagined, grotesquely   
marring an already bruised and battered head.   
  
"You're alright though," his friend assured him, quickly. "I mean your father wanted   
to turf you away in a helicopter but Dad put a stop to that."  
  
"Clark," Martha interrupted, gently. "Now that Lex is awake, I really think Doctor   
Williams will want to know. Could you go and find him, please. I'll stay here with   
Lex."  
  
Clark grinned. "Sure, no problem." Lex managed a small, but genuine smile back at   
him. Then, after punching Lex lightly on the arm, Clark hopped off his side of the   
bed, in search of Williams. Once Clark had left the room, Lex twisted slightly to look   
at Mrs. Kent who still sat on the left side of his bed. She ran a warm hand, gently   
over one side of his face. Despite his instinct to draw away, it felt good. Forgotten.   
  
"How are you really feeling, Lex?" She queried. He ignored the question.  
  
"So now I'm bald AND I have a hole in my head? There isn't a Dating Game show   
in the history of television that could help me, is there?"  
  
The laugh, that escaped her lips, felt good. It had been longer than she preferred in-  
between laughter at the Kent house. The night before had been busy and no one had   
grabbed a lot of sleep. Dinner had been pretty much ruined so they had ordered take-  
away pizza instead. Then the rest of the night was filled with last-minute farm chores   
and with preparing a long-term guest bedroom for their would-be visitor.   
  
"Thank-you, Lex," she said, smiling. "It's been a little while since I laughed last."   
She dimly wondered how long it had been for the young man in question. "However,   
you've also avoided my question. How are you feeling?"  
  
His smile was just a little mischievous. "Like I missed my calling as a stand-up   
comedian. You think it's too late to jack in LuthorCorp?" This time, her smile was a   
little tighter and not quite so humorous. A challenge clearly shone through in her   
eyes.   
  
"Cute. Stall one more time, Mister and I'll get Mr. Kent to lecture it out of you."  
  
Lex narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Mrs. Kent appeared to be a lot more on the ball   
with his tactics then her son was. With a gruff sigh, he relented.  
  
"Fine. A little dizzy…maybe. It'll pass soon enough."  
  
She searched his face for any clues that he was lying. After a brief pause, her gaze   
seemed to shift focus. He let out a breath that he hadn't even realised he'd been   
holding. She appeared satisfied, for the moment. "Uh-huh – good. But until you   
produce a bona-fide doctor's qualification for me, I'm going to let Dr. Williams make   
the final diagnosis before we get you out of here."  
  
At this, Lex appeared genuinely concerned, struggling to sit up, despite Martha's   
attempts to keep him still. "Oh, no really, Mrs. Kent. You and Mr. Kent don't have to   
drive me home. I can call my driver – he'll be here within the half-hour. You've   
done more than enough for me just by sticking around here. If you could just find me   
my cell-phone? Oh, and my car – I've left it over at the farm. I can swing by later   
today and get it out of your way…"   
  
"Lex, just relax," Martha interjected. "Now we looked up your driver on your cell-  
phone and he came and picked up your car last night. Clark went with him and saw   
that it was put back safely in your garage. It took quite a while to persuade him to   
come back home for dinner after he got a good look inside there, but that's another   
story." Lex gave a sideways grin.  
  
"Any time he wants to borrow one of them, Mrs. Kent…" Martha stopped him mid-  
sentence.  
"You just keep that thought to yourself, Lex Luthor and certainly well away from   
Jonathan." Though the warning had been mild and light-hearted, Lex took it with the   
seriousness that he knew was intended.  
  
"I take it Mr. Kent isn't particularly happy about sticking around here?" Lex   
ventured. Mrs. Kent returned with a reassuring smile, taking his hand in hers and   
squeezing it, gently. "I think you'd be surprised," was all she would say.  
  
At that moment, the door to his private room opened, and Lex watched passively as   
three people walked into the room. The first, was Clark, still with the satisfied grin on   
his face. Lex wondered what had made him so happy, and incidentally, at the   
quizzical look he shot his mother as soon as he walked into the room. His mother, he   
noticed, shook her head ever so slightly in response. Whatever was going on, Lex had   
a sinking feeling in his stomach that not only was he going to find out soon, but it also   
had the combined backing of all the Kents (he assumed Jonathan was in on it too).   
Lex wasn't sure that he stood a chance against those odds.   
  
Next into the room was a stranger but a private school education told him that this   
was probably the doctor. Closely following on his heels and, Lex noted curiously, not   
looking nearly as pissed-off as he would have imagined, came Jonathan Kent. He   
shut the door behind him and then proceeded to lean back against it, arms folded   
across his chest and shooting what appeared to be a …challenge to the young Luthor?   
Did they honestly think he was going to bolt for the door, or something? What on   
Earth did they have planned here?   
  
"Well, Mr. Luthor. I'm glad to see you're awake. I'm Doctor Williams – I operated   
on you when you were brought in last night." He offered a hand to Lex, who shook it,   
carefully. He was never too sure when it came to doctors. This one seemed alright.   
He certainly appeared to have the Kent's blessing and that was probably enough to   
have a man admitted to the Seminary in Rome. Williams continued. "Has Mrs. Kent   
explained your condition yet?" At Lex's shake of 'no' (quickly followed by an   
involuntary grimace as the pain and nausea washed through his head), Williams   
explained.   
  
"A recent head injury appears to have caused internal bleeding in your skull. Now   
this bleeding produced a pressure inside your head that began to push down onto the   
brainstem. It was what caused your headaches, dizziness, nausea and the ringing in   
your ears. You may also have experienced vision problems?"   
  
"Not that I'm aware of." Lex answered.   
  
"Well, every case is a little different. We had to perform what we call a trepanation.   
That involved drilling a small hole into the back of your skull, to relieve the pressure.   
With careful monitoring though, you're going to be just fine."  
  
Lex felt himself relax a little. "Thank-you, Doctor Williams. Can I take it that I'll be   
released today?" He smiled to himself. This had to be the easiest discharge he'd ever   
know and he hadn't even had to sweet-talk or bribe anybody.   
  
Williams checked his chart. "Well, it seems the papers have all been drawn up and   
the Kents have signed on the appropriate lines…after a few safety instructions, I'll   
just have the nurses get your clothes and personal belongings together."  
  
"Thank-you – you've been very help- wait! WHO signed my release papers?" It had   
to be a side effect of the hole in his head. Affecting his hearing – obviously.   
  
Williams glanced back down at the papers. "Uh…yes, it was Mr. Kent, wasn't it?   
That's right." Lex was dumbfounded. He chanced a glance towards Martha and   
Clark, hoping to see a look of confused surprise etched on their faces at this terrible   
misunderstanding. Instead, his fears were confirmed. Clark was silently shaking with   
laughter, arms wrapped around his chest in an effort to control himself. Mrs. Kent's   
eyes were both slightly amused but most definitely firm, hardened for any attack. A   
look in Mr. Kent's direction yielded the same result…only perhaps with a touch less   
humour and a smidgen more threat.   
  
"Um…" he began to stutter, "Um, well that's very thoughtful but I really wouldn't   
dream of inconveniencing you all like that. I'll be just fine on my own." He turned   
imploring eyes on Williams. The bastard was enjoying this way too much. And as for   
Clark! The kid wouldn't know what hit him when Lex got out of there. "Just explain   
what the safety precautions are and you have my word that I'll follow them to the   
letter."  
  
"It's no inconvenience, Lex." Martha assured him sincerely, "and in fact, I think   
you'll find the conditions of your release…"  
  
"The conditions of my release?! You make it sound like I'm on probation!" Lex   
protested.   
  
"Well, you never know, Lex," Clark put in. Lex was about to answer his friend   
sharply, when Dr. Williams cut in.  
  
"For the next month or so, you'll need to avoid any strenuous activities which   
includes the better part of your responsibilities as CO at LuthorCorp. It also means   
that you should avoid excessive exercise and extreme altitudes. You're going to feel   
a little queasy for the next couple of days – a little unsure on your feet. Use your best   
sense – don't do anything that could end you back here."  
  
"Absolutely! I promise – now can I PLEASE go back home?"  
  
Martha looked straight to her son. "Clark?" She didn't need to ask more.  
  
Clark didn't hesitate. "He's lying, Mom."  
  
"Clark!" Clark had betrayed him – Lex didn't think he would have seen the day.   
This was all wrong. He was Lex Luthor. He didn't do a damned thing unless he   
wanted to. So why was he lying here, listening to this? In spite of himself, Lex knew   
the answer only too well. This was it. The Rockwellian family that he used to muse   
over in the spare time his hectic schedule allowed. No matter how indignant they   
made him, no matter how hard, how determined he tried to be, eventually, he was   
doomed to fail. Resistance, as the saying went, was futile. Still, that sure as Hell   
didn't mean he couldn't go down fighting. As a Luthor, he expected nothing less from   
himself.  
  
"I can fulfil these responsibilities perfectly well by myself, thank-you all the same. I   
DO NOT need to be mollycoddled." His voice was tight and, he hoped, commanding.  
  
"Lex?" They all looked to Jonathan Kent, still standing sentry by the door. "How did   
you hit your head?"  
  
"What?" Lex asked, distractedly. Jonathan said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow.   
Lex could feel himself flushing and cursed his pale complexion more than ever. "I   
mean, pardon?"  
  
"Your head," Jonathan continued, once he was satisfied with the young Luthor's tone.   
"How did you hit your head in the first place?"  
  
Suddenly, Lex found the starch hospital sheets to hold the secrets of all the mysteries   
of the universe. He studied them as earnestly as an astronomer studied the stars, or   
Clark studied Lana Lang. He could feel the heat building in his cheeks. He just about   
managed to mumble a response. "Fell off the ladder."  
  
"Excuse me? What ladder was this? When did this happen?"  
  
He glanced up quickly at Clark's father and his penetrating gaze. Shifting awkwardly   
in his bed, Lex explained, "The ladder in my kitchen. I fell off it and kind of…hit my   
head on the counter as I went down."  
  
Now it was Martha who turned on him. Clark, it seemed, was alternating between   
surprise, concern and sheer amusement. His mother however, was not amused.  
  
"You hit your head as you fell off a ladder? When? When did this happen?"  
  
It took years of self-control not to physically squirm. "Uh, I'm not sure. A couple of   
nights ago…maybe?"  
  
"Did you lose consciousness?" Williams asked.  
  
"No, no," Lex hastily assured him. 'So THIS is what ten years old feels like', he   
thought to himself. 'NOW I remember'.   
  
"And you didn't think to seek a medical opinion?" Questioned Jonathan Kent,   
incredulously.  
  
"Well…no. I guess not but at the time…well, you know, uh…no. I didn't."  
  
"I see."  
  
Mrs. Kent's voice was very calm.   
  
Mrs. Kent's voice was very quiet.   
  
Alexander Joseph Luthor had never been more nervous.  
  
"Doctor Williams? Clark? Would you give us a few moments with Lex? We'll be   
out in a minute?"  
  
Williams smiled, graciously. "Take your time. I'll have everything ready waiting for   
you at Reception. Just buzz the nurse when you're ready." With that, he gave a nod to   
Lex, before moving past Mr. Kent and out of the door. After shooting his friend a   
sympathetic smile, still with that damned laughter in his eyes, Clark sauntered out   
after the doctor.  
  
That just left the three of them, as Jonathan closed the door.  
  
***  
  
Thirty minutes later, Lex (his ears still ringing) was seated obediently, if not happily,   
in the required wheelchair (whilst on hospital grounds) as the Kents collected the rest   
of his belongings from Reception and the assortment of antibiotics and medications   
that he would need. Clark was pushing him along, every now and then hitching a ride   
on the back of the chair – that is until Jonathan would call him up on it. Then he   
would start all over again when his parent's backs were turned.  
  
Lex couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips in spite of himself. Part of this felt   
good. Part of this felt…right. After all, a sojourn with the Kents and his best friend,   
might not be so terribly bad after all. 


	6. Chapter 6

On An Average Day, Part 6  
By: Polly  
Disclaimer: if only…  
Feedback – let me count the ways in which I'd love you all…  
  
"So what else do you need from here?" Clark asked as they travelled the polished   
floors of the Luthor Mansion. It had taken some persuasion on the trip back   
from the   
hospital, but eventually Martha had been swayed that it would be easier for all   
if Lex   
could take what he needed for his visit now. The other possibility was to send   
one of   
the Kents on a mad search across the dozens of rooms and who knew what they   
might   
stumble across there? Lex preferred to play it safe.   
  
Together, he and Clark had successfully rooted through his wardrobe to come up   
with   
the most 'casual' clothing that Lex possessed (though he couldn't help but pack   
at   
least one business suit, just in case). Lex had already done the essentials and   
they had   
now moved on to past times. The pool table, it had been decided, was a non-  
starter.   
Clark had assured Lex that there was a Crazy Pool game on his computer back   
home,   
but somehow, Lex appeared less than thrilled at the prospect. Clark put it down   
to the   
hole in his friend's head: who DIDN'T like Crazy Pool?  
  
"I guess some of these books," he said, gesturing to the small pile on his   
bedside   
table. "I'll grab some CDs and a player."  
  
As Clark began stuffing books randomly into a bag, he called over his shoulder.   
"Hey, you want to take any of those comic books with you?"  
"They're graphic novels," Lex insisted, sharply, eyes firing briefly. Then his   
shoulders deflated fractionally. "No," he sighed. "These'll do. Let me just   
grab my   
laptop and some disks and we can be out of here." Clark raised an eyebrow.   
Reaching a hand out for the object in Lex's grasp, he advised. "Better let me   
have   
that – I can stick it inside my jacket." Off Lex's questioning look, he   
explained, "If   
she thinks you're trying to work, she'll have a fit."  
  
"Just great," Lex muttered to himself. He handed the computer to his friend,   
swiped a   
few remaining odds and ends off the shelves, made sure the written instructions   
for   
the upkeep of the mansion were left in the correct places for the staff, before   
finally   
making his way back to the car and back to his new abode.  
  
***  
  
The first day turned out to be a little less traumatic than the occupants of the   
Kent   
household had feared. Upon arrival, Clark had shown Lex up to his room where   
the   
two of them had plugged the music player in, put in a CD and unpacked the rest   
of   
Lex's belongings. They slid the laptop under the bed.   
The rest of the day had been spent watching TV, idly chatting and playing the   
occasional video game of Clark's (though Lex bitterly complained that it was no   
substitute for a game of pool). As he lounged on the couch, or sat propped up   
on top   
of his bed however, Lex was more than a little aware that he was trying to avoid   
contact with Clark's parents as much as possible. He wasn't sure exactly why   
but the   
atmosphere was just generally more relaxing around Clark.  
  
Martha and Jonathan Kent had appeared on edge since their arrival back at the   
house   
and even a sometime guest like Lex could pick up on it. A marked difference to   
their   
normal behaviour was evident in their gestures and features. As much as he   
tried to   
dismiss it as the general stress of a farmer's life, his suspicious mind   
couldn't help but   
worry about the obvious: that it was down to his presence. The most odd thing   
of all,   
was that it was Mr. Kent who was being the most relaxed around him, smiling off-  
handedly if he passed by the TV or Clark's room. Mrs. Kent seemed to spend most   
of   
her time away with her own thoughts and barely seemed to notice the two of them.   
It   
was a stark contrast to her behaviour at the hospital.  
  
Finally, after a rather tense supper, when even Clark had been casting concerned   
glances his parent's way, Lex broached the topic with his friend, once they were   
safely back in Lex's room. "Clark – is it my imagination or is there   
something…bothering your parents?" The two boys were once again, relaxing with   
music playing, Lex carefully lying on the blue and white sheets of the bed,   
while   
Clark lounged in the easy chair in the corner. Clark glanced up from the comic   
book   
of Lex's that he'd decided to swipe from the mansion anyway. He frowned   
slightly   
and put the comic down, shifting in his seat so that he was sitting up and   
leaning   
forwards towards Lex in an almost conspiratorial manner.   
  
"So I'm not the only one who's noticed it? Yeah – mom's been acting kind of   
funny   
for a couple of days now – since the afternoon before you came by and keeled   
over in   
our kitchen." He stopped and grinned while Lex tried hard not to wince. Clark   
knew   
that that bothered him and by God, was he playing it for all it was worth.   
Inwardly   
however, he felt a constriction loosen in his chest. The strangeness had   
started before   
his collapse. The Curse of the Luthor's hadn't struck yet, then.  
  
"I don't know what's up with her. She and Dad are being pretty secretive about   
the   
whole thing. I think it has something to do with a letter that came the other   
day." He   
trailed off to gauge his houseguest's reaction.   
  
"That's curious," Lex agreed, mildly but then fell silent. Clark couldn't help   
the   
sliver of surprise and…disappointment? "What? Aren't you going to suggest I go   
find out what the letter was about? I thought you hated secrets?"  
  
"Clark, if you're looking for an excuse to satisfy your curiosity and pry into   
your   
parent's private business, then I'm afraid you're going to have to look   
elsewhere." He   
grinned as Clark's face flushed red with embarrassment.  
  
"I never wanted to…" he began to exclaim, earnestly but trailed off as he saw   
the   
knowing expression on Lex's face. His friend knew him a little too well, it   
seemed.   
With an guilty smile, he admitted, "Well, it was kind of worth a shot, I   
suppose. But   
seriously, what do you think could be wrong? You don't think it could be money-  
related, do you?" Lex considered this for a moment and then shrugged one   
shoulder.   
"Your parents have faced financial problems before. I don't imagine this is the   
same   
thing. I think you're going to have to find out when your parents decide to   
share."  
  
Clark surveyed him with amusement. "Well aren't you suddenly the well of   
patience   
today!"  
  
"Hole in the head."  
  
"You blame everything on that hole in your head, now," Clark protested. Lex   
snatched the comic book away from Clark as he replied.   
"It's convenient – try and prove otherwise."  
Clark opened his mouth to reply, but then shut it again. Without in-depth   
medical   
knowledge, there wasn't much of a way to counter that one. However, on seeing   
the   
smug look on his friend's face, Clark knew he couldn't leave the argument there.   
Lex   
never saw the pillow until it hit him, square in the chest. He looked down at   
the   
offending missile of cotton and polyester in mild shock and amusement.  
  
Wordlessly, he picked it up and hurdled it back, not particularly caring where   
it   
landed. It was relatively satisfying however to see it land firmly in Clark's   
face   
accompanied by a muffled, "Umph!"   
The tension grew ever so slightly as both of them sat up a little straighter.   
Clark eyed   
the pillow by his feet and picked it up, slowly.  
  
"Clark," Lex warned. "You'd better not be planning anything, I swear! I'm NOT   
getting in to this so just…" Clark grinned and raised the pillow above his   
head, just   
as a throat cleared, non-too subtly in the open doorway. Both heads snapped   
round to   
the sound, Lex instantly regretting it.  
  
Martha stood with her arms folded, fixing Clark with a look somewhere between   
total   
shock and a hint of amusement. Just this side of super-speed, Clark lowered the   
pillow and put it back on the bed. "Hi, Mom," he greeted, plastering an   
innocent   
smile on his face.   
  
"Uh-huh." She didn't appear too impressed with 'The Look'. "Good job I was   
passing by, I'd say. Hi Lex, how are you feeling?" she enquired, moving in to   
the   
room.   
  
"Hi, Mrs. Kent. I'm fine, thanks." He forced himself to stay still as she ran   
an   
interrogative gaze over him. When she was done, she produced a small cap-full   
of   
pills and a glass of water, which she'd been holding. "I've got your   
antibiotics here.   
You look exhausted and you've had a long day. You should probably have been   
resting more," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. Lex had a   
horrible   
feeling that she was making a mental note to herself for the next day. "Have   
you had   
any headaches?"   
  
There was no point in lying. "A few but they're not bad." She gave him a   
comforting   
smile. Whatever had been plaguing her that day, she seemed to have forgotten   
about   
it, or at least dismissed it for now.  
  
"That's not what you were saying before, Lex." Clark put in, finding the sudden   
ability to wind his friend up, to be one of the most useful powers he had   
developed so   
far.   
  
"Well yes," Lex agreed, casually. "I was fine up until the point when you   
slammed a   
pillow into my head. Things went a little downhill after that." Before Clark   
could   
retort, Martha decided to put a stop to it. "Clark – I also came in to ask you   
to lock up   
the barn tonight. Your father's had to pop out for a little while. Now,   
please," she   
added, as Clark remained in his chair a moment longer. With one last grin   
towards   
his friend, Clark rose from the chair and left the room, calling out "See you in   
the   
morning!" as he disappeared.  
  
Lex watched him go and couldn't help chuckling to himself. He glanced up to see   
Martha still looking at him, smiling benevolently. She handed him the pills and   
he   
looked down at them in distaste. He had always hated medicines – he'd always   
hated   
being sick but that didn't happen very often. He knew now, without a doubt that   
if   
he'd been left to his own devices at the mansion, the entire collection of those   
miserable pills would have been washed down the sink by now. Mrs. Kent   
apparently   
knew that too. From the pointed look that she gave him, it was clear that she   
intended   
to stay right where she was until Lex had satisfactorily downed the lot.  
  
Scowling heavily, Lex tipped the contents of the little cup into his mouth   
before washing it down with the glass of water that she handed to him. "That's   
better," she remarked, apparently approving.   
Lex had always prided himself on his skills of perception. Hazarding a chance,   
he   
ventured. "I guess this is my cue to call it a night?"  
  
Martha grinned at him. "You do look exhausted, Lex even if you don't realise   
it. I'll   
bring breakfast up tomorrow – I want you to stay in bed. Only exceptions are   
bathroom breaks – okay?"  
  
"The whole day?" Lex asked, incredulously.   
  
"You'll survive. Besides, you'll have little else to do. Clark will be back at   
school   
tomorrow – we only let him have today off to help you get settled in."  
  
"I know – thank-you," he added, quietly but sincerely. She patted his shoulder.   
  
"You're most welcome. But come on, now – I'll take these downstairs," she said,   
gesturing to the small glass and now empty plastic cup, "and you get some sleep.   
I   
WILL be checking back later so I suggest you get used to this."  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," he agreed, only half-jokingly. As he watched her leave the room   
and   
close the door behind her, he waited for a moment more before swinging his legs   
over   
the edge of the bed and standing up. Truth be told, he could barely keep his   
eyes open   
any more. As Lex made his way to the bathroom he tried not to envisage too many   
dull days ahead of him while his friend whiled away the hours in school. He was   
fairly confident he'd find a way to amuse himself…  
  
***  
That's it for now but I'm typing more, almost as we speak and I PROMISE the   
action   
will pick up in the next chapter! 


	7. Chapter 7

On An Average Day – Chapter 7  
By: Polly  
A/N – a great big thank-you to everybody who reviewed the story or sent little   
notes   
of encouragement! You're what makes it all worthwhile! :-)  
Summary: Leaving Lex alone in your house is never a good idea…  
WARNING: F-word is used once in this chapter. Please don't read if it's going   
to offend you  
  
***  
  
The Torch's Office was finally beginning to empty. One by one, the hard working   
reporters, artists, computer technicians and sub-editors filed away, back to   
classes,   
back to homeroom or back to where ever it was that their torn and battered   
timetables   
told them they should be. As the last body pushed its way out of the pale blue   
and   
heavily ticketed door, they waved a half goodbye to the only remaining occupant   
of   
the room. When the last swivel chair had stopped spinning, Chloe Sullivan   
leaned   
back in her chair still idly twiddling a pencil between her finger and thumb.   
  
Her own timetable had barely been given the light of day. THIS was where she   
belonged – here, in the hub of all things 'happening' in Smallville. Her   
teachers   
sometimes needed to be reminded of this crucial little fact but what was school,   
if not   
an enlightening experience for everybody? Stabbing her pencil at the keyboard   
in   
front of her, she punched up the latest article she had been working on: a   
relatively   
tame piece about the opening of a new bowling complex though she had been   
searching high and low for a darker purpose behind it. A front for a larger   
organisation perhaps, or maybe funded by the Luthors? She ran a hand through   
her   
wavy hair as the other hand poised over the keyboard, a slight frown etched on   
her   
pointed features. An investigative reporter could but dream, she decided with a   
sigh.   
  
Behind her, the door to the office swung open. "Hey Clark," she greeted,   
casually,   
not bothering to look round. "You finished those cafeteria menus already? They   
don't have to be in until Monday, you know." She could almost see his jaw set   
in that   
particular line that said he'd just been caught out. Score one for the city   
kid.  
  
"I could be coming in here for more than just the lunch time menus, you know."   
He   
reported, smiling in spite of himself. Sometimes he wondered just who, amongst   
his   
friends, was meant to be the one with the uncanny abilities of detection. God,   
she was   
going to make a great reporter one day, he suddenly thought to himself.   
She turned in her chair to face him.   
  
"Sure you could. Like, for instance offering your company to a devilishly   
attractive   
investigative reporter for the shindig of the decade?"  
  
"Shindig? Did I miss something?" Clark asked, a puzzled look crossing his face.  
  
"It's only the hottest little happening in Smallville –isn't that right, Chloe?"   
They   
both turned to the newest voice. Pete Ross stood framed in the open doorway, a   
grin   
plastered over his face. Chloe stood and moved to link her arm with his.   
"That's   
right. Don't tell me you haven't been prepping yourself for the annual regale   
of the   
Smallville Lantern Lights Festival for at least the last two weeks? Your folks   
sure   
must have – aren't they setting up their usual stall?"  
Pete elbowed her gently in the ribs. "Chloe you hate that festival. You always   
have.   
What was it you called it last year? Pleasantville meets Amityville?"  
  
"Well what can I say? The years have worn me down. But if I ever start jumping   
through hoops at the turn of the annual Cantaloupe Festival then you both have   
my   
full permission to kidnap me and drag me down to Metropolis for an emergency   
dose   
of a real life."  
  
"So that's what you call it, huh?" For as long as he had known her, Pete could   
never   
resist a good dig.   
  
"Laugh it up, Ross. One day you'll know what I'm talking about. So how about   
it,   
Clark? You up for a little company this year or are you going to opt for your   
cheerleader's ringside seat again?"  
  
Clark ran a nervous hand over his face. "Lantern Festival? I …uh, it kind of   
slipped   
my mind. You see, with Lex back home, I've sort of been planning to spend some   
time there." The look on Pete's face spoke volumes. Immediately the young   
man's   
jovial features fell and his eyes darkened. Looking out at Clark from under a   
hooded   
brow, he said, testily, "Luthor. Of course it would be. Never mind about us or   
the   
event we've all been talking about for weeks."  
  
"Pete," Chloe interjected, softly. Though she couldn't claim to be as close to   
the   
young billionaire playboy as Clark was, she could at least step back and try to   
be   
objective about it. She hadn't been Clark's friend since early childhood –   
whatever   
role Lex was taking in her friend's life, it wasn't threatening to move in on   
the role   
that SHE had set aside for herself. Not the way that it was encroaching into   
Pete's   
territory. Still, that didn't actually mean that Lex himself was the very devil   
incarnate, as her passionate friend would like to think.  
"Clark. Pete does kind of have a point. Besides, won't your parents need some   
help   
with the stall?"  
  
Clark folded his arms about his chest as he looked at his two friends. Lex had   
been   
stuck home for the whole day with little else than the TV in his room for   
company.   
He'd only been with them a couple of days as it was. Did he really want to   
abandon   
him for the whole evening, too? One last look at Pete's quietly scowling   
features   
afforded him his answer.   
  
"Sure," he agreed, with as much conviction as he could muster. "You couldn't   
keep   
me away." The returning grin to Pete's face was all the reassurance he needed   
to   
persuade Clark that the right decision had been made. After all, Lex was a big   
boy   
and was more than capable of looking after himself. Besides, Clark was getting   
the   
distinct impression that the invalid was about to throw the next mother-henning   
member of the Kent household through the nearest glass object. He had no desire   
to   
become said unfortunate person and so giving Lex his space probably wasn't such   
a   
bad idea.  
  
***  
  
It was with a sigh of relief that Jonathan heaved the last of the crates full of   
fresh,   
organic produce onto the back of the truck. The sun was particularly oppressive   
that   
day, beaming down with an intensity that made the sweat pour down his back and   
his   
shirt cling to his skin, uncomfortably. With only the equipment for the stall   
itself to   
load, the job was almost done. Besides, what were teenaged sons for, if not for   
alleviating heavy workloads? Irritably, he swiped at an insect, straying too   
close to   
his face for comfort. The weather always brought them out in swarms.   
  
As he headed back into the kitchen, Jonathan took a moment to glance down at his   
watch, carefully twisting the strap a little to stop it rubbing at his swollen   
wrist.   
Martha had popped to the store almost thirty minutes ago. In this heat it would   
be   
murder carrying back groceries. If she wasn't back in five minutes, Jonathan   
decided,   
he would take the truck out to try and spot her walking back.  
  
He pushed open the screen door and eased off his boots in the doorway, leaving   
them   
neatly, just inside. The fridge was beckoning to him and he quickly obeyed his   
thirst,   
pulling out a long, cold beer and not bothering with a glass before he popped   
the cap   
and started to drink. The cool liquid slipped thankfully down his dry throat   
and he   
paused to hold the chilled glass bottle to his forehead. A sound from the door   
to the   
den, made Jonathan glance up. He moved the bottle away from his head as a   
slight   
frown crossed his features. "Funny. Last time I checked the only bathroom we   
have   
is upstairs. Unless you've had your people in to do a little renovating while I   
was   
working out back?"  
  
Lex chose not to comment, silently standing framed in the doorway. Jonathan   
resisted the urge to shake his head in wonder. It still surprised and perhaps a   
little   
unnerved him, to see Lex Luthor looking so…laid back. At least in dress. The   
relaxation of his facial muscles and the waning of that ever alert, ever   
defensive look   
in his eyes – that would, with any luck, come in time. For now though, it was   
strange   
enough to see him in loose, grey jogging pants, a dark red sleeveless tee-shirt   
and   
trainers slipped on without the benefit of socks or even properly tied up.   
Someone   
was obviously making the most of a certain member of the household being out on   
a   
little grocery excursion.   
  
For Lex, the experience was no less awkward. Jonathan Kent was hardly the most   
likely person he would have chosen as a housemate and the instinct to do verbal   
battle   
with the man, at every meeting, was very hard to quell. His gaze left the older   
Kent   
for a moment and fell upon the boxes for the stall, still to be packed up. Even   
back at   
the mansion, Lex had heard about the annual Lantern Festival. He'd arranged to   
give   
the staff the evening off for it as apparently it was one of the halfway decent   
occasions that the town had to offer. Lex had never seen the appeal of it but,   
as a   
member of the community (albeit, a little reluctant at first) he had decided to   
pop by   
for at least an hour or so. He also understood its importance to the Kents.   
All the   
local farmers would be there, as would most of the town. If there was one thing   
the   
Luthors did understand well, that was big business opportunities.   
  
Lex moved into the kitchen and carefully picked up one of the boxes, stacked   
compactly by the door. "Do you want these on the truck? It wouldn't take a   
minute." He asked, trying to swing the back door open with one foot. Of   
course,   
doing Jonathan Kent a favour was never going to be easy, no matter how small or   
insignificant Lex tried to make it.  
  
"Just put it down, Lex. Clark and I can manage just fine when he gets home."   
It   
seemed no matter what was being said, Jonathan could not keep the edge out of   
his   
voice when he spoke to Luthor Jr.   
  
The young man immediately felt himself bristle. "You know I CAN manage to work   
out how to fit a box onto the back of a truck, despite the horrendous gaps in my   
upbringing! I'll just look at it as a mathematical problem."  
  
Jonathan put the bottle on the counter and turned to face Lex head on. "Put it   
DOWN, Lex – before you drop it," he insisted, firmly, his voice rising. Lex   
could   
feel his jaw tightening and for a moment, his grip on the box grew stronger   
until his   
knuckles whitened.   
  
After a moment's pause, his grip loosened and he gently placed the box back on   
the   
floor. "Fine." He said, quietly. "I shouldn't have bothered." With that, he   
turned on   
his heel and strode towards the door. Jonathan closed his eyes briefly and took   
a   
calming breath. Lex was already at the door when he called out, forcing a   
gentler,   
more civil tone into his voice:   
"Lex. Wait." He paused until he was sure the young Luthor was indeed, hovering   
on   
the spot, his back facing him. "I *meant* that Martha will have my head if she   
comes   
home and sees that I've got you doing manual labour in the blazing heat."  
  
"It's just a box, Mr. Kent," Lex insisted, softly.  
  
"Lex, to you it's a box, to me it's a box, but to Mrs. Kent it's like having you   
run the   
Mini-Olympics with a broken leg. I mean do you have ANY idea how long I'll be   
in   
the dog house if she comes home to that?" He was rewarded with Lex turning   
round   
to face him, a smile creeping across his face.  
  
"I think I could hazard a guess." His gaze fell on the beer still resting on   
the counter.   
It wasn't lost on Jonathan. "There another one of those going, Mr. Kent?"  
Jonathan narrowed his eyes. He glanced at his watch again. "What time are you   
supposed to have your pills?"  
"Uh, about seven, I think. Just after dinner."   
  
It was a little after five. Jonathan considered for a moment.   
  
"I don't imagine you're a lightweight drinker?"  
"No, Sir. Not so far, anyway."  
  
Finally, he relented. "Alright – as long as you understand the risks."  
  
"I know what mixing alcohol and medication will do, Mr. Kent." Lex insisted,   
just a   
little offended. Jonathan raised an eyebrow at him.  
"I was talking about Mrs. Kent walking in on you but feel free to choose the   
lesser of   
two evils."   
  
With that, he opened the fridge door and handed another cold beer to Lex, who   
had   
gratefully sat down at the kitchen table. Staying in bed for the day had turned   
out to   
be absolute torture. Daytime television was truly a nightmare: no one should   
have it   
inflicted on them. When the chance had arisen of getting up, he had taken it,   
eagerly.   
However, that didn't mean that his head didn't still swim every now and then.   
It was   
a welcome chance to be off his feet for a little while.   
  
For a few minutes, the two of them sat in relative companionable silence,   
content with   
quenching their thirst. Though the conversation didn't flow, at least the barbs   
and   
insults didn't either. Presently, Jonathan looked up. "You know, I'm going to   
go and   
look for Martha, she's been gone a while. You'd better retreat before she gets   
back."   
At that moment, the sound of boots scuffing at the back door, made both men turn   
round. A moment later, Clark pushed his way into the kitchen.  
  
"Hey Dad. Hey Lex. Dad – you want me to load those last crates onto the truck?"  
"Sure thing, Clark but it's going to have to wait till after I get back. I'm   
going out to   
pick your mother up. See you later." With that, he picked up the keys to the   
truck   
and left.   
  
Clark took his father's place at the table. "So, how was your day? You manage   
to   
stay occupied ok?"   
"Like you wouldn't believe."  
"Do I detect just a hint of sarcasm there?" Lex downed the last of his drink   
and   
moved to throw the empty bottle in the trash.   
"It's a possibility, Clark." His friend glanced down at his hands and took a   
deep   
breath. Lex noticed the hesitation – that look his young friend always got   
whenever   
he was going to bring up an awkward topic.   
"Go on Clark – just spit it out. It can't be any worse than the diatribe   
released on   
Jerry Springer this morning."  
"Well, I was just wondering if you were going to be ok alone again tonight? It's   
just   
that I promised Chloe and Pete that I'd be there tonight and I sorta forgot   
about it,   
what with all that's been happening and everything."  
  
Lex raised a hand and waved away his explanations. "It's fine Clark. Really.   
I   
figured you'd be going any way. Apparently the whole of Smallville's going to   
be   
there. I didn't expect you to stay home on my account. I'm sure I'll find ways   
to   
amuse myself. With your mother out for the evening, maybe I'll finally be able   
to   
plug my laptop in."  
"You sure? I hate leaving you like this – I mean you'd probably have more   
people to   
talk to back at the mansion. This was supposed to be the better option."  
"Clark, from what you've told me, I wouldn't BE at the mansion right now if your   
parents hadn't intervened. I'd be stuck in Metropolis with the occasional   
company of   
my father. Being in a situation where my opinion on how I run my life, doesn't   
really   
seem to matter, IS something that takes a little getting used to but even I can   
see that   
it's better than the alternative."  
  
Clark seemed to relax. "So you're not mad." Lex shook his head, no.  
  
Suddenly, Clark's eyes turned to look out the window and his head followed a   
moment later. Lex raised his eyebrows, questioningly.   
  
"Truck," he reported. "About a minute away." He watched as Lex's expression   
turned just a little bit sceptical. "Hey, I've known the sound of their truck   
for a long   
time – I can hear it a mile away." To his relief, Lex seemed to accept that.  
  
"Okay, I'm gone." With that, he wandered out of the kitchen and with one last   
wave   
to Clark, headed back upstairs.  
  
***  
The gentle breeze, holding the last of the day's scorching heat, lifted and   
swung the   
rows of lighted lanterns, hanging from the looped fine twine, interwoven amongst   
the   
colourful bunting that decorated the perimeter of the fields. In one field, the   
fairground and its attractions raged on, teeming with the young and old alike,   
screaming in unison at the dips and soars of the rides. Amongst the attractions   
and,   
spilling out into the second field, were home-made stalls and booths of all   
kinds: fresh   
farm produce, jewellery, clothes, fortune-tellers and the obligatory fast-food   
purveyors of the modern youth.   
A live band was already well underway in the furthest corner but the dancing was   
yet   
to warm up. At best, an enthusiastic crowd had gathered, groups of friends,   
couples   
linked with arms or mouths, or just the odd person content with enjoying the   
movement of a crowd around them.   
  
Clark was away with his friends, having helped set up the stall and manned it   
for   
about half an hour before his parents had given in to the yearning look in his   
eyes as   
he watched his friends mingling and laughing at the fairground. Now, Jonathan   
and   
Martha happily manned their stall, both surprised and pleased at the success   
they were   
having. They knew from past experience that the Lantern Festival was always   
good   
for business as the joviality of the night, inspired folks to dig deeper in   
their pockets   
and take home more than they probably intended. However, this year was an all   
time   
high for them.   
  
"Jonathan - do we have any more potatoes out back?" Martha called as Mrs.   
Simmons smiled patiently at the other side of the stall. Her husband   
disappeared   
behind the stall to the truck for a moment and presently returned with a sackful   
of   
potatoes which he carefully opened and handed out what was required. After   
thanking Mrs. Simmons and watching her meander around the rest of the stalls,   
Martha leaned back against her husband and let out a relieved sigh. "I won't   
complain that I love the money we're getting but if this pace doesn't slow down   
a   
little I'm going to go and buy one of those stools from Ned Manners over there."   
She   
felt Jonathan's hands begin to massage her shoulders from behind her and she   
released a contended breath. "Thanks," she muttered.  
  
"Do you want to call Clark over here for a little? Have a breather?" he asked   
her.   
She scanned the crowd for her son and presently saw him, queuing for the roller-  
coaster, Chloe and Pete digging him in the ribs, good-naturedly over some joke   
or   
other. She couldn't do it: he looked so happy.  
"It wouldn't kill him, Martha," Jonathan insisted, firmly, clearly seeing the   
way his   
wife's mind was turning.  
"I know," she insisted gently, "but he doesn't get a lot of time with his   
friends and I   
really am alright here - honest."  
"Then why do I get the feeling that you're less than happy about something?" he   
wondered. She turned to face him, a look somewhere between guilt and worry   
crossing her face. As she opened her mouth to answer, Jonathan cut in with an   
amused sigh.  
"Don't tell me: Lex?"  
  
"Well, I'm worried about him! I can't help it - he's there all alone and it's   
only his   
second night out of the hospital. Maybe I should call him." She decided,   
digging   
through her bag for her mobile phone. Jonathan gently caught her wrist in his   
hand.   
"And you'll probably either wake him up or at the very least get him out of bed   
to   
traipse down to the phone. He's fine. You'll just embarrass the kid if you   
call."   
After a moment's pause, she relented. "I suppose you're right. I just hope   
he's found   
a way to entertain himself. I'd hate to think he was sitting home being bored."  
"Honey, I don't think people like Lex Luthor GET bored."  
  
***  
  
"Where do they find these freaks?" Lex wondered. "Chloe could add half of   
these to   
her Wall of Weird'. Finally, he flipped off the television, as the audience   
screamed   
the name of 'Jerry' over and over, disgusted, more at himself that he'd actually   
watched the show then at the collection of individuals frozen in mid-slanging   
match.  
  
Taking another sip of his water, Lex leaned back on his pillows, turning   
slightly on   
the bed to get more comfortable. He turned his gaze to the window where night   
had   
well and truly fallen about an hour ago and the warmth of the day had begun to   
seep   
away into the darkness. Though he remained snugly warm in his jogging pants and   
tee-shirt, his bare feet were wavering between comfort and chills. What was it   
about   
feet, he idly wondered, that made them get cold so damned quickly?  
  
Unexpectedly, a light shone from downstairs. Lex frowned. He hadn't expected   
anyone to be home for at least another couple of hours. The sound of creaking   
floorboards could be heard and Lex resisted the urge to call out, fairly certain   
that this   
person was even less of a welcome house guest than he was. Silently, he reached   
over   
to his bedside lamp and turned it off. Swinging his legs over the bed, he sat   
perfectly   
still and strained to hear what was going on downstairs. Whoever it was, was   
fairly   
confident that tonight of all nights no-one was going to be home to disturb him.   
Even   
the neighbours would be out. Everyone, was pretty much gathered in one   
location.   
  
From downstairs, he could hear drawers being opened and closed. No attempt was   
being made to disguise the noise but at the same time, care was being taken to   
ensure   
that things were put back the way they were found. Immediately, Lex's brow   
furrowed in confusion. He was used to break-ins. The mansion was a regular   
visitor   
to some light-fingered individual or another and in his experience, they were   
never   
too bothered about leaving a mess behind them. So what was different here? All   
of a   
sudden, it dawned on him. This wasn't a burglar: whoever it was, was looking   
for   
something very specific, possibly not even valuable in monetary terms. And it   
was   
small, judging by the drawers and cupboards that seemed to be being ransacked.   
  
Carefully, he stood. Moving cautiously but swiftly, Lex eased the door to his   
room   
open and chanced a cursive glance up and down the hallway. The coast was clear   
and   
he slipped out into the darkness, only the flashlight from downstairs giving him   
his   
bearings in this, still relatively unfamiliar part of the house. Reaching in to   
the open   
doorway of Clark's room as he passed, he picked up the baseball bat that he had   
noticed in there earlier. He tested its weight and strength quickly. 'Well,   
it'll have to   
do, I guess. Of course a gun wouldn't go astray.' And if this person happened   
to be   
armed…well, he wouldn't go there. Stopping whatever was happening downstairs   
was his main priority.   
  
Lex was amazed at just how quietly he could creep downstairs if he wanted to.   
In the   
kitchen, he could make out the figure of a man, hunched over what seemed to be   
piles   
of papers on the kitchen table. Raising the bat slowly above his head, Lex   
advanced.   
The man still had not turned around. He was so intent on his task that he did   
not   
notice Lex's approach. The young Luthor stopped short, however as, all of a   
sudden,   
the man seemed to find what he was looking for, letting out a hiss of delight.   
The   
only human sound in the otherwise silent room, sounded strange and somewhat   
alarming. Hastily, the man shoved what appeared to be an envelope into the   
pocket of   
his dark jacket. He still had not turned around.   
  
'Come on,' Lex thought, irritably. 'Turn around - let's get a look at you.' So   
far,   
there was no sign of a weapon. Could it really be that this guy was so   
supremely   
confident that he wouldn't run in to any trouble tonight?   
  
He was almost upon him. Just one more step and he could bring the bat down.   
His   
heart, pounding in his ears, Lex stepped closer and raised the bat higher.   
Without   
warning, an intense pain ripped through his left foot. Even if he had been   
prepared,   
he doubted he could have withheld the heated curse that left his lips. "Shit!"   
he   
hissed, immediately looking down.   
It was all the intruder needed. As the man spun around to face Lex, he brought   
the bat   
down in a wide arch. Too wide, as it turned out. Lex watched in acute   
irritation as   
the bat swung just an inch wide of the man's head. The man, it also turned out,   
had   
not been stupid enough to enter a house unarmed.   
  
If it all hadn't happened so quickly, then Lex's brain would have thought of   
something appropriate to say, like 'Stop!' or 'Don't move!' or anything like   
that. As   
it was, all he could do was to try to react to the situation at hand. With his   
arms still   
raised above his head, the intruder let out a surprised grunt and struck at the   
most   
obvious place he could think of: Lex's midsection. The distant sound of fabric   
being   
sliced open was the only indication that Lex had that the man was carrying a   
small   
knife. After the shock of entry at his stomach, it took only a moment for the   
numbness to wear off and the sharp pain to take its place as the gash in his   
abdomen   
began seeping more blood then he cared to think about.   
  
With a punch to the face, hard enough to knock Lex to the floor, the man dodged   
around him and bolted out of the front door. No noise from a vehicle's engine   
started   
up so Lex quickly surmised that he had come on foot.   
  
Twisting his leg round to gain better access to his foot, he wasted no time in   
pulling   
out the protruding nail, no doubt dropped from Jonathan's toolbox at some point   
in   
time. With a slight grunt of pain, his foot and his stomach screaming their   
protest,   
Lex scrambled to his feet and tore out into the night.  
  
In the near distance he could clearly see the shadow of the man, heading towards   
the   
newly acquired construction site - another monstrosity that Jonathan Kent was   
fighting against. Without much thought for anything other than his quarry, Lex   
gave   
chase.  
  
***  
  
The mood to dance had finally kicked in and now the festival seemed to be really   
on   
the way. Most of the goods stalls had packed up now and the owners were   
sampling   
what was on offer around them. As Martha and Jonathan wandered around the   
fairground, Martha couldn't help but look at her watch every now and then. It   
was   
going on eleven-thirty. She began to fiddle with the hem of her blouse as she   
wandered, arm in arm with her husband.  
  
"Are you wanting to get back?" he suddenly asked her, quietly. She glanced up   
at   
him but he didn't appear to be annoyed. Silently thanking him for his   
understanding,   
she squeezed his arm a little tighter and pulled him closer to her.   
  
"It is getting a little late," she admitted. "I know Lex can take care of   
himself but he   
does need to have his medication pretty soon. He's got his first check up at   
the   
doctor's tomorrow. I'd feel pretty embarrassed if we couldn't even send him in   
with   
the right level of medication after only two days." Beside her, Jonathan   
returned the   
half hug and chuckled softly.   
"I guess so. How about we give Clark another half hour and then head back?"   
She   
smiled gratefully at him.  
"That sounds great. I'm sure Lex must be asleep by now. I hate to have to wake   
him   
when we get home." Shaking her head slightly, she continued to idly amble the   
attractions, buzzing with energy around her.  
  
***  
  
He hit the wall running. Without slowing, he used the momentum to propel   
himself   
round the corner, his bare feet slapping noisily on the hard ground of the   
construction   
site. His ribs were aching with a sharp pain and Lex longed to stop, hunch over   
and   
spend a moment or two catching his breath. As it was, his breathing came in   
short,   
harsh gasps but he dared not stop. The man had run into what was going to be a   
high-  
rise office building. It stood in the darkness, looming like some kind of   
archetypal   
gothic tower.   
  
'Just a little further,' Lex thought to himself. He was closing in - he could   
feel it.   
Some time back, the pain in his feet had recessed to the furthest part of his   
mind, as   
had the fire spreading in his midsection and sides. His head had been swimming   
violently though whether that was due to the speed with which he was running, or   
his   
recent operation, he couldn't tell.   
  
The metal door, uselessly guarding an empty building, banged open as he roughly   
slammed against it. As he ran, his eyes took in the scene before him.  
  
'Terrific," he groaned, inwardly. 'Stairs - lots of them,' He couldn't see how   
high up   
they went but as the building was very nearly finished, he could imagine that it   
was   
pretty damn high. He took the stairs two at time.  
  
The banging and grunting from above him, told Lex that he had very nearly caught   
up   
with his assailant. The stairwell spiralled round and round. The higher and   
faster he   
went, he began to notice the pounding in his head and the ringing in his ears,   
all the   
more clearly. Something registered, dimly in his mind. 'They're going to kill   
me.'   
Pushing aside impending doom and driving his body to what seemed like the very   
edge of its ability, Lex strove onwards.   
  
Round the next corner and he saw him. Turning round to look at his pursuer for   
a   
moment was all the time Lex needed. Launching himself, arms outstretched, he   
flew   
at the man, catching him around the feet and bringing both of them down on the   
stairs   
with a hard thud.  
Both gasped in shock but Lex had the upper hand. Ramming a knee firmly in the   
man's gut, he caused him to cry out in pain as he landed blow after blow on his   
face   
and chest. Twisting and turning, the man tried to loosen himself from Luthor's   
vice-  
like grip.   
  
"Who are you?" Lex demanded, angrily as he continued to hold the guy firmly by   
the   
shirt and either roughly shake or reign punches down on him. "What the Hell do   
you   
want with the Kents?" No-body touched the Kents. Not in his town and not while   
he   
still drew breath.   
  
"Fuck you!" the man managed to spit back.   
  
Lex smiled, a dangerous glint in his eye. With a cracking blow to his jaw, he   
answered. "Try again." Blood splattered down the man's face and chest and Lex   
felt   
the inward satisfaction flow through him. There was nothing quite like giving   
in to   
the savage instincts that all of mankind was naturally prone to - although he   
was sure   
both his father and the Kents would have something to say about that, even if it   
weren't for the same reasons.  
  
His hand moved to wrap itself around the front of the man's throat, the other   
hand still   
pinning him to the ground. Non-too subtly the grip began to tighten, pushing   
down   
on the windpipe. Beneath him, he could feel the man begin to choke and sputter.   
The   
man's blood pulsed heavily through his veins and Lex could feel it pounding   
frantically through his skin. His own rapid pulse beat steadily out in a   
staccato   
rhythm, pounding in the back of his skull like a bass drum. The man's eyes   
began to   
bulge slightly, making him look almost comical in a strange sort of way. 'Just   
a little   
more pressure', Lex thought - then he'd ask him again.  
  
However, as hard as he had been fighting against it, the pressure and pain in   
his head   
began to culminate. The world around him rocked and swayed violently. Nausea   
rose in his throat and the ringing in his ears grew louder and louder. Almost   
imperceptibly, his grip on the man loosened. His body rocked slightly and the   
pressure he was applying to keep the intruder still, shifted.   
  
Seeing his chance, the man roughly shoved Lex away and watched as he tumbled,   
unceremoniously down a couple of stairs. He hovered for a moment, uncertain of   
whether or not to finish the strange young man off. He was certainly a hassle   
that he   
didn't want to have to encounter again. Lex groaned softly and raised his head   
towards his attacker. The man took a step down towards him and then, just as   
suddenly, seemed to change his mind.   
  
Taking a side door at the next landing, he sprinted out and disappeared.   
Forcing up   
energy that he didn't really feel, Lex nevertheless made to go after him. It   
was at that   
moment that he saw it. It was lying, crumpled and a little torn on the stair   
just by his   
hand, obviously having been dropped in the fight. Moving a hand out to snag it   
and   
draw it in to view, Lex pushed himself up to a sitting position with one elbow   
and   
examined the seemingly innocent envelope before him. However, as he very well   
knew, little that appeared innocent, actually was. Fighting the urge to pry and   
partly   
preoccupied with his head, Lex pocketed the envelope in the loose pockets that   
tracksuits afforded him.   
It was at a much slower and more careful pace, that Lex Luthor made his way back   
to   
the Kent farm.  
  
***  
  
After a twenty minute drive, all feeling slightly more subdued than when they'd   
started out, the Kents had arrived back home, pushed open the front door and   
turned   
on the hall lights. If they noticed that the front door had been left partly   
open when   
they returned, then it hadn't immediately registered. Perhaps they were all too   
tired?  
  
"I'll just pop up and give Lex his meds." Martha said, quietly as Jonathan   
passed her   
in the hall with another box from the truck. Clark was busy piling the rest of   
the   
empty crates in a corner of the kitchen.   
  
"Mom?" Clark called out, softly. She turned to him. "Did we leave the kitchen   
like   
this?" he asked, indicating the untidy piles of papers, strewn across the table   
and   
floor from where the intruder had not had time to clear them away. Frowning   
slightly, she moved into the kitchen to get a closer look, Jonathan close behind   
her.  
  
"I don't think so, Clark." She answered, concern lacing her voice. She moved to   
sort   
through the piles of papers on the counter but Jonathan stopped her.   
  
"No - don't touch anything, yet."  
  
She glanced up at him, sharply. "What do you thinks wrong?"  
  
"I'm not sure," he answered, evenly. Clark looked from one to the other.   
Scanning   
the kitchen with x-ray vision, his gaze rested on the cabinets and drawers.   
  
"Mom, Dad, some of these locks have been broken." After a moment's hesitation,   
he   
carried on, "I'm going to find Lex."  
  
"Be careful, Clark," his father warned.  
  
Jonathan and Martha waited in the kitchen, unsure of what to do.  
  
"Should we call the police?" Martha wondered.  
  
"We don't even know if anything was taken yet," Jonathan pointed out, not at all   
enjoying being in the dark. At that moment, Clark burst downstairs.  
  
"He's gone!" he called out as he ran up to his parents. "Lex is gone." His eyes   
were   
wide with concern.  
  
"Calm down, Clark." Jonathan instructed, firmly. "We don't know anything yet.   
Did   
it look as if there'd been a struggle in his room?" Thinking back, forcing   
himself to   
concentrate on his father's question rather than on his desire to go tearing out   
in   
search of his friend, he answered.  
  
"No. Everything seemed fine." It was then, that he scanned the rest of the   
downstairs   
and saw it.  
  
"Dad! Look at this." Carefully, he bent down and showed them the blood,   
staining   
the carpet a deep red. Martha gasped in shock and covered her mouth with her   
hand,   
her mind envisaging only the horrors that a mother could envisage.  
  
Jonathan quickly moved to where his son was kneeling. "Don't disturb anything,   
Clark."   
  
"I'm calling the police," Martha insisted, determination masking the fear in her   
voice.  
  
"Now Martha - we don't know what exactly's happened yet. We should look around a   
little first - see what's missing."  
  
"What's missing is the young man who was supposed to be in our care! What we   
have instead is bloodstains on our carpet! As far as I'm concerned, that's   
reason   
enough to call the police."  
  
"Please, don't bother them on my account."   
  
All three heads turned, in surprise to the newest voice. Lex was leaning   
against the   
open door way and carefully made his way into the house. He was turned away   
from   
them slightly, hoping to hide the bloody tee-shirt but it was no use.  
  
"Lex!" Martha gasped, immediately running to him. Almost as soon as she moved   
towards him, Lex began to wave her concern away.  
  
"I'm fine, Mrs. Kent. There's no need to fuss." He glanced at the blood on the   
floor   
and grimaced. "Sorry about the mess. I'll pay to have it cleaned."  
"We don't give a damn about the floor, Lex!" Jonathan insisted, tersely. "What   
the   
hell happened here?"  
  
Clark wrapped an arm as casually as he could around his friend's shoulders,   
leading   
him to one of the kitchen chairs. He noted with some alarm, that his friend   
couldn't   
help but lean heavily into him, swaying slightly with each step he took.   
Gently, he   
lowered him into the chair.  
  
"Your stomach!" Martha exclaimed.   
  
"It's just a scratch," he insisted, firmly. "It's not deep." He sat back   
however and   
allowed Martha to lift his shirt up and examine the wound. Stopping her at that   
point   
would take more energy than he had to spare. Not that he was going to let that   
slip.  
  
Jonathan pulled up a chair next to him and repeated his question. "Lex - what   
on   
earth happened here?" Wordlessly, Lex pulled the letter out of his pocket and   
handed   
it to the waiting man.  
  
"You had a visitor. He took this. I managed to chase him up the new tower block   
just   
east of here but then I lost him." He and Clark both noted Martha pale as she   
took the   
letter that her husband offered her.  
  
"Mom? What's going on?" She began to shake her head.  
  
"Clark - go and get the First Aid kit from under the sink, will you?"  
  
"But, Mom…"  
  
"Clark," his father interjected. "Just do as your mother asks, please."  
They worked more or less silently, cleaning the wound in his stomach and the   
cuts on   
his feet. The only topic of conversation had been the events that night and it   
didn't   
take long for Lex to give them the facts. After all, there wasn't much he could   
tell   
them. He hadn't recognised the intruder and, from his description, neither   
could any   
of the Kents.   
  
His stomach wound, it had turned out was as Lex suspected, not deep. After   
washing   
and dressing the wound Martha eventually agreed that it could wait until Lex's   
doctor's appointment the next day before being seen to by a professional.  
  
Finally, Lex couldn't help but ask. "Mrs. Kent, I have to ask: what's going on?   
Why   
break in to your house for a letter?"  
  
"You didn't read it?" Jonathan wondered. Lex cast him a look, not devoid of   
hurt.  
  
"It wasn't my letter, Mr. Kent," he replied, evenly. "Though I did get put   
through the   
wringer for it. I'd kind of like to know WHY?"   
  
For a moment, Clark expected his mother to give them the same evasive response   
that   
she had been giving for the last few days. However, throwing everyone in the   
room,   
she sighed and seemed to relent.   
  
"It's complicated, boys," she began, "but, I'll try and explain." She watched   
Jonathan's mouth open in surprise but after sharing a knowing look with his   
wife, he   
simply nodded and moved to sit next to her.  
  
"It was before your father and I were married, Clark," she told. "I was still   
working   
in my father's law firm and had been seeing your father for a while. During   
that time,   
I was working, in a very minor way you understand, on a very important case.   
Have   
you ever heard of Paulo Franzini?"   
  
Clark shook his head but Lex nodded.  
  
"Wasn't he a Crime Boss of a massive ring about twenty or so years back?"  
  
Martha nodded. "No one could touch him - not the law anyway. Until one day the   
FBI came across his book-keeper. The man was willing to testify to every   
fraudulent   
transaction Franzini had ever made." Clark gave a low whistle.  
  
"Wow - that's gotta take guts."  
  
"Or not a lot of brains," Lex added.  
  
Martha continued. "Well as it turns out, he never got to testify. The moment it   
was   
leaked that the authorities had a witness, Franzini disappeared. They haven't   
found   
him yet."  
  
"What happened to the book-keeper?" Clark wondered, "and how come you're   
involved in this?"  
  
"Your mother helped to transcribe the interviews he gave." Jonathan supplied,   
taking   
his wife's hand. "Over the course of the weeks that he was in Federal custody,   
she   
began to make friends with him, and his family. We both did. It wasn't exactly   
something the Feds were crazy about but they did recognise the importance of   
having   
someone that the witness trusted."  
  
"Anyway," Martha said, "for his own protection, he and his family were   
relocated. I   
never knew exactly where but I did know the region. I was involved with the   
administration and because we were friends that he trusted…well, I probably knew   
more than I should.   
  
A couple of days ago, this," she said indicating the rather abused letter in her   
hands,   
"came in the post that was delivered to the Kellerman's by mistake."  
  
"Is it from him?" asked Lex, leaning forward as far as his injured midriff would   
allow. Martha nodded.  
  
"Apparently, things have been a little strange there lately. Agent Rasen, the   
man   
assigned to their relocation, has been acting a little strangely in his   
correspondence for   
the last couple of weeks. Supplies that were supposed to be delivered to the   
house,   
haven't been. They've been getting a little worried about what's happening out   
there.   
Just a few events that have unfortunately transpired at the same time - it's   
making   
them feel that something may be going on. I think they just wanted to be   
assured that   
their links to the outside world were still working."  
  
"It's understandable for anyone to start feeling caged and jumpy when you've   
been   
hidden away as long as they have." Jonathan pointed out.  
  
"I know," she agreed.  
  
"But," Clark pointed out, "if someone broke in here to steal the letter that   
they sent to   
you, is it really just their overactive imagination?"  
  
"That's a good point, Mrs. Kent."  
  
Martha rubbed a hand over her tired face. "I've left messages for Agent Rasen   
to call   
me about this. He hasn't got back to me yet but I'll call him again tonight and   
let him   
know what's going on."  
  
Jonathan had already phoned the sheriff while they were fixing up Lex and had   
given   
him a potted version of what had transpired that night, included a description   
of the   
chase Lex had engaged on. He had promised to keep a look-out for the man around   
town and had advised Jonathan on keeping a close watch on the farm for the next   
couple of days. "Probably just damned opportunists looking for a quick buck   
while   
folks are out of their houses." He had suggested.  
  
As Martha moved away to make the phone call, Jonathan checked all the locks on   
the   
doors and windows, leaving Lex and Clark to talk quietly amongst themselves.  
Presently Martha came back. "Right - it's very late. Off to bed, both of you."   
She   
handed Lex his meds and watched until, once again, he downed them all and placed   
the glass on the kitchen table.  
  
Clark rose, kissed his mother on the cheek and clapped Lex lightly on the   
shoulder as   
he moved past.   
  
When he was upstairs, Martha levelled a glare at Lex. He groaned, inwardly,   
especially as he spotted Jonathan coming back from checking the house was   
secure.   
They both sat in front of him, perching on the kitchen table as he regarded them   
calmly.  
  
"What the hell were you thinking, Lex?!" Jonathan asked quietly, but firmly.   
Lex   
looked at him in surprise. He'd expected the ranting to come from Mrs. Kent,   
not her   
husband. Seeing a Luthor finally caught unawares, Jonathan pressed on.  
  
"Did you even consider that he might have been armed?"  
  
"He was breaking in, Mr. Kent," Lex protested.  
  
"Then call the police!" he snapped back. "Even in perfect health, you're hardly   
in a   
position to go tackling burglars."  
  
"As it is, Lex," Martha interjected, "you shouldn't even have been wandering   
around,   
much less giving chase to an armed intruder. I mean how foolish do you have to   
be to   
chase him up flights of stairs? You know exactly what that could do to your   
head and   
you didn't even THINK about that. For goodness sake, where was your brain?!   
Let's   
not even talk about chasing a man when you already have a nail in your foot and   
a   
knife wound to your stomach."  
  
Well at least that was one conversation he would get to avoid today, Lex   
considered.  
  
"No, actually DO let's talk about it!" Martha corrected, abruptly. "The first   
thing you   
do when that happens is you call the police and then an ambulance! At the very   
least   
you call one of us. Taking off on your own was completely unacceptable."  
  
She found herself cut off mid-sentence however, as Jonathan squeezed her hand,   
gently. Looking over at him, he said, in a low voice.  
"We're all tired, Sweetheart. Why don't we call it a night for now? We can   
talk   
about this better tomorrow, when we're all a bit calmer."  
  
After a couple of calming breaths, her shoulders relaxed a little.  
"Fine," she agreed, fatigue and stress evident in her voice. With one last look   
at Lex,   
who couldn't help but look a little abashed, she said, "Get some sleep. Your   
appointment's at ten." With that, she left the room, making her way upstairs.  
  
Jonathan stood up and wrapped an arm around Lex's shoulders to help him   
upstairs.   
Wisely, Lex said nothing and made no attempt to move away. Wordlessly, he   
allowed Jonathan Kent to help him upstairs and in to his room.  
Once the older man had deposited him on his bed, he gave the young man one last   
instruction. "I wouldn't expect the TV or hi-fi to be here tomorrow, if I were   
you," he   
advised. With that, he left him alone.  
  
As Lex changed and climbed carefully into bed, his mind churned over the hectic   
events of that night. The Kents had been right to be annoyed, he supposed.   
Though   
the risks had been high, at the time, they had seemed perfectly acceptable.   
However,   
as he lay back in his bed and allowed the fingers of sleep to draw him in to   
darkness,   
Lex couldn't help but recall the proud reactions elicited the Kents every time   
Clark   
swooped in and saved the day. The hugs, the smiles, the praise: with that   
thought in   
mind, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.  
  
***  
OK – that's it (for now) please r&r, you lovely people! 


	8. Chapter 8

On an Average Day - Part 8  
  
By: Polly  
  
Disclaimer: if only...  
  
Feedback is greatly appreciated as it is converted into energy and used to power my   
  
computer. Without this I cannot possibly write any more. This would greatly grieve me.   
  
A/N - I'm sorry this chapter is a little on the sketchy side and was a long time in the offing. I   
  
had IMMENSE writer's block and hummed and hawed over my keyboard for many a   
  
night. I'm not sure that 'fluff' is my niche, so it didn't all flow naturally!   
  
Thank-you very much for the lovely reviews  
  
***  
  
Twenty-two. So far, and his concentration had occasionally wandered, Lex had counted no   
  
less than twenty-two pot-holes on this one stretch of road. For nine-thirty on a Saturday   
  
morning, the roads were blissfully clear - only an endless stretch of golden corn ahead of   
  
them, all lined up in systematic rows. To Lex, growing up with pictures of similar fields in   
  
films and on TV, they always seemed to have been planted with military precision, and after   
  
two and a half days living in the Kent's household, he could well believe it. With a lurching   
  
thud, the count rose to a painful twenty-three as his head rocked backwards and then   
  
forwards and the truck bounced up and down like a cheap amusement ride. Beside him,   
  
Clark shot a glance his way, attention divided between his best friend and the navigation of   
  
Smallville's highways.   
  
'Sorry about that.' He offered, glancing back sheepishly, at the road ahead.   
  
Lex grunted slightly in return, casting his gaze in a quick flicker in Clark's direction.   
  
Clark made another attempt to break the silence of the journey. 'We're almost there now.'   
  
'Great,' Lex didn't quite enthuse. Clark tried hard to push his friend's pessimism aside. He   
  
knew it wasn't anything personal. The harmonious farmer's household routine could only go   
  
for so long before an independent city-boy like Lex was going to fall out with it. Which   
  
didn't mean to say that they couldn't work it up again but for now, it was clear that his friend   
  
wanted as much space as he could lay his hands on.  
  
Thinking back to that morning, Clark recalled the determined expression that Lex had worn   
  
as he had risen before all of them and had been making his way out of the kitchen door, car-  
  
keys in hand. The challenge had been there for all to see. He may have been taken down   
  
the metaphorical peg or two the night before but Luthors bounced back. They stood tall   
  
and right at that moment, they were daring anyone to oppose his God-given right to journey   
  
to the doctor's on his own.   
  
Well, the opposition was well and truly met. His host family had unleashed a barrage of   
  
protests, not least among them being Lex's ability to drive with both a recent head trauma   
  
and deep lacerations to his feet. It had turned out that Martha didn't trust him to divulge his   
  
recent adventures and their medical consequences to the doctor. Jonathan just plain didn't   
  
trust him to make it to the doctors at all. But Lex had not been swayed. Though he   
  
remained, arguing his point in the kitchen, he nevertheless, stood his ground proving that the   
  
Luthor stubborn streak was just as powerful as the Kent's. With his arms folded defiantly   
  
across his chest and his jaw set in a firm line Lex had refused to budge. Of course, neither   
  
had Jonathan and Martha. Eventually, a compromise had been struck. Clark would   
  
accompany Lex to his appointment and was to, on pain of MTV, see that his reluctant friend   
  
not only went all the way in to the office but relayed accurate details of the most recent   
  
catastrophes of his health.   
  
So, there they sat in not quite companionable silence. Clark knew only too well that his   
  
friend was trying to maintain his dignity and portray a cool, detached aloofness. However, it   
  
was perilously close to plain sulking and Clark decided it was getting a little tiring.   
  
'Are you going to be like this all the way there and back?' he finally demanded. He didn't   
  
look at him this time, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them. After a moment's pause,   
  
he heard a relenting sigh, giving just a little more grace than he'd previously enjoyed.   
  
'I guess not. I know it's not your fault, Clark.'   
  
Clark was sorely tempted to point out that this really wasn't *anybody's* fault, but knowing   
  
just how frustrated Lex was, he took it without comment. 'How about some music?' he   
  
suggested. Off the young man's assenting nod, he fiddled with the stations until he found a   
  
song that he instinctively knew both he and Lex would tolerate.   
  
The music washed around them for a while, filling the empty silence, giving a focus point for   
  
the thoughts of the truck's occupants. After one song had passed, Lex turned to face Clark,   
  
apparently having pushed aside the residues of resentment. 'Thanks for doing this, Clark. I   
  
know it can't be the best way to spend your Saturday. I just don't think I could have   
  
handled getting through this appointment with your parents trying to stare me down the   
  
whole time.' The young farmer casually shrugged one shoulder. 'S'okay. Beats making the   
  
deliveries. You wanna go somewhere afterwards?'  
  
The question was met by a sceptical arched eyebrow.   
  
His co-conspirator grinned, understandingly. 'They never have to know. We could say   
  
there was heavy traffic.' Glancing at the expanding void before them, he amended slightly,   
  
'Or maybe just a real back-log at the doctor's office?' Lex remained silent.  
  
'Come on," he urged, 'we've been living under the same roof but it feels like we've barely   
  
had the chance to say two words to each other since you moved in. What do you say? We   
  
could head into town or something. See a movie?' He was aware that his suggestions were   
  
probably embarrassingly tame past-times compared to what the young billionaire was used   
  
to, but it had to beat sitting at home under the watchful and, to some degree, disapproving   
  
stares of his parents.   
  
His eyes slightly narrowed, Lex enquired evenly, with a hint of amusement, 'You sure you're   
  
not jeopardising MTV? It appears I might be living vicariously through you for a while, after   
  
all. It's both our lives at stake.' He broke into a grin as he saw the gleam in his friend's eyes.   
  
'Never thought I'd live to see the day when Clark Kent is corrupting a Luthor. Chalk one   
  
up for the farm boy.'   
  
'What can I say? I'm learning from you, Lex.' He laughed.   
  
'Just don't let your dad hear you say that.'  
  
The rest of the journey passed in far lighter spirits as the Medical Centre hove into sight.  
  
***  
  
An hour later, Doctor Macarthy ushered Lex and Clark out of his office door as Lex   
  
finished buttoning the last buttons on his shirt. Macarthy handed another prescription to   
  
Clark as Lex did this. 'You can pick this up at any drug store but I'd do it today if I were   
  
you.' Then he addressed his next comment to his patient who had now finished with his   
  
shirt. 'You should start taking this today, if possible.' Lex nodded, absently.  
  
'I'm sure I will.'  
  
'And I wouldn't recommend taking on any more high speed pursuits, if I were you. I must   
  
admit that patching up a knife wound wasn't exactly what I was expecting when I read your   
  
transcript.' Lex resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He'd heard enough on this particular topic   
  
to last him a lifetime and he had the feeling the matter was yet to be dropped back at the   
  
farm. He was now intensely glad that Martha had not been there to exchange looks with the   
  
doctor, tutting and shaking her head all the way through.  
  
'Thanks for you time, Doctor,' Lex said, politely, ignoring the unsolicited advice on his social   
  
habits.   
  
As he and Clark made their way past Reception, Macarthy called out after them, 'And   
  
make an appointment with the nurse for the same time next week, would you? Considering   
  
the events of yesterday, I think it's wise to have a follow-up session a little sooner than we'd   
  
agreed upon.' This time Lex did groan as he and Clark reluctantly made the newest   
  
appointment.  
  
***  
  
"You sure about this?" Clark watched in amusement at his friend's less than enthusiastic   
  
stance.   
  
"You picked the movie, Lex," he pointed out, "now I choose the leisure activity."  
  
"Yes, but you liked the selection I chose," Lex pointed out, "because I have good taste.   
  
This," he muttered, somewhat distastefully, indicating his present attire with a nod, "this is..."  
  
"Boring?"  
  
"I was going to say 'stupid' but now you mention it."  
  
"Ah, come on, Lex. How is this stupid? You must have done far crazier things for fun in   
  
Metropolis." His friend raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You don't want to know the sorts of things I did for fun in Metropolis," he returned,   
  
quietly. Clark nodded. "I guess not. But can't you just give this a try? I promise you'll get   
  
a kick out of it."  
  
"Firing pellets of paint at you whilst dressed in pseudo army camouflage gear?" Clark gave   
  
him an enthusiastic, wide grin in response.  
  
With a put upon sigh, Lex relented, lowering the protective goggles over his eyes. "Then let   
  
the games begin."  
  
"What? No legendary words of wisdom from Alexander the Great?"  
  
"Don't push it, Clark," Lex warned, wryly.   
  
With that, both young men disappeared to their respective positions in preparation for half   
  
an hour's ritual slaughter.  
  
***  
  
Forty-five minutes later, they both emerged, more or less cleaned up. Lex couldn't keep the   
  
smile off his face completely. As they walked side by side, occasionally hopping down into   
  
the road, whenever the sidewalk got too crowded, Clark continually jibed at his companion.   
  
"C'mon! Admit it - you enjoyed yourself." He whooped in triumph as Lex turned his head   
  
away from him, hiding the obvious satisfaction on his face.   
  
"Yeah, right, Kent. You'll be dragging us off to a barn dance next."  
  
As they rounded the corner, they spotted the truck, just where they had left it. Clark was   
  
always the poster child for lauding the small town values of Smallville but Lex could never   
  
completely dispel those city-bred suspicions. No one is admiring your car, they're scoping   
  
it out.   
  
"The barn dance will have to wait, I'm afraid, Lex," Clark replied as he opened the   
  
passenger's door for his friend. "We've got to run by the drug store on the way through   
  
town and then I have to get back to those deliveries." Letting himself into the driver's seat   
  
and slamming the door firmly shut, Clark started the truck's engine and paused for a   
  
moment until the engine was sounding just right.   
  
Lex occupied himself with slotting a CD into the player. "Only half a day's freedom? Well,   
  
I suppose it'll have to do."  
  
"Mrs. Pennerman's going to be going into withdrawals if she doesn't get her tomatoes   
  
soon."  
  
Lex shot him a mildly quizzical look. "Is she the one you were telling me about who's half   
  
blind, half deaf and thinks you're her nephew who died thirty years ago?"   
  
"That's the one."  
  
"I hardly think she's going to be able to tell what time it is or how many hours late her   
  
delivery is. She'd probably be floored if you pointed out which decade we're in, Clark."  
  
"You'd be amazed, Lex. I think she uses our delivery times as her star charts - probably   
  
sets her watch by them." He craned his neck round to the side, as he carefully pulled out   
  
into the steady flow of early afternoon traffic. Lex shook his head, in mock disapproval.   
  
"And now you've gone and thrown her schedule out by a whole..." he glanced down at his   
  
watch. "Five hours. Shameful. Just think about it, Clark. She'll be five hours late having   
  
her lunch - probably hasn't even eaten breakfast yet."  
  
"Shut up, Lex."  
  
They merged easily into the right hand lane, heading back to the outskirts of Smallville.  
  
"Five hours late taking her pills."  
  
"Shut *up*, Lex."  
  
"She'll miss all her favourite television shows."  
  
"You're going to be walking back to the farm in a minute."  
  
"They'll find her huddled in a corner from lack of food and sleep deprivation."  
  
"Lex! I'm pulling over..."  
  
The young man chuckled to himself as they ambled leisurely home, Lex's CD filling the air   
  
around them.  
  
***  
  
It had been almost three by the time they had waltzed in through the kitchen door. Clark   
  
had almost immediately been ushered off onto his rounds while Lex had been drilled for all   
  
possible details surrounding his doctor's visit. On Clark's return from the deliveries, the   
  
smell of bacon had wafted up to greet him, reminding both he and Lex of their missed lunch.   
  
Popcorn and junk food at the movies had only been enough to keep them going for so long.  
  
As they sat around the kitchen table eating, Lex felt, for the first time since entering their   
  
house as more than just the short-term intruder, that he was at home. Suddenly, the   
  
prospect of sitting alone in the mansion, chilled wine and finely prepared cuisine as his only   
  
comforts, struck him as intensely unappealing. Clark didn't have the perfect family life. No-  
  
one did and if they tried to claim otherwise then they were usually either delusional or liars.   
  
But the difference between the Kents and the Luthors (or at least one of the multitude of   
  
differences that set the two families apart) was that the Kents were genuine. No pretence,   
  
no acts. If they were pissed off with each other then they let it show. If they needed   
  
comfort then they offered it. If you wanted to be alone in this house then you could be. That   
  
didn't mean that you *had* to be.   
  
  
  
***  
  
After only a short time living at the farm, Lex and the Kents fell into a routine, far easier than   
  
either party originally anticipated. Lex usually made every effort to rise in the morning when   
  
the rest of the household did though the effects of the occasional late night could sometimes   
  
override his sense of camaraderie. During the week, when Clark was at school, he either   
  
helped Jonathan around the immediate farm, or allowed Martha to take great delights in   
  
imparting all of her 'motherly' knowledge onto a more or less willing subject. There hadn't   
  
really been anywhere else to go to and Mrs. Kent had a very persuasive manner when she   
  
wanted. As soon as Clark got home and had rushed through his chores, he and Lex would   
  
usually spend the rest of the evening pottering about, either in the house or in the barn.   
  
It was a Friday night and Lex and Clark were clearing away the last of the dishes from   
  
dinner. It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Lex found he could make his way   
  
around his friend's kitchen with ease. There wasn't a cupboard or a drawer that he didn't   
  
know about. Nothing like his expanse of kitchens back at the mansion. He made a mental   
  
note, as he stacked the last of the plates that Clark handed to him, to have a map drawn up   
  
of where exactly everything was, when he got back home.  
  
"That the last of them?" He called over his shoulder.  
  
"Yep. Hey you guys," Clark called to his parents, who were tucked away snugly on the   
  
couch, an old movie blaring through the television, "We're going now, OK?"  
  
"Going? Where?"  
  
Clark and Lex exchanged a look. "Come on, Dad! I've only mentioned it a dozen times   
  
for the past week. Lex and I are driving over to the State Fair."  
  
"Barn dance."  
  
Clark turned to his friend, an exasperated look on his face. "There's no barn dance, Lex - I   
  
*promise* you." Off the hesitant look that he caught his parents exchanging, he pushed on   
  
further. "He missed out on the Lantern Festival and you both agreed that it would be good   
  
to get off the farm more." Martha opened and closed her mouth once, obviously trying to   
  
cast her mind back. Jonathan wrinkled his brow, apparently trying to do the same. The   
  
topic of conversation *did* seem familiar somehow but neither of them could quite place the   
  
result of it.  
  
"Well," Martha ventured, "I guess if we've already discussed it..."  
  
"We have." Clark insisted firmly. From where he stood, leaning against the door jam, Lex   
  
nodded his support.  
  
"We won't be too late, Mrs. Kent," Lex assured her, as he stood up straighter and grabbed   
  
his jacket from the peg by the front door. He opened the door and held it open for Clark as   
  
he made to move past him and out to the yard where the truck was waiting for them.  
  
"And what did we say?" As one, they paused mid-track and half turned to face Jonathan.  
  
"Pardon, Mr. Kent?"  
  
"Well, we discussed it, but what did we say?" The pause and apprehensive look shared   
  
between the two boys was all the evidence Jonathan needed before he smelled a rat.   
  
Pressing on, he enquired: "Was it an 'off you go and have fun' conversation, or an 'are you   
  
trying to scam us' conversation?"  
  
Clark wouldn't meet his gaze: a sure sign. He tried Lex. Now he was going to be a tougher   
  
one to crack. "Lex?"  
  
"Well, I don't remember the exact details, but Clark and I were left with the definite   
  
impression that the trip was still on."  
  
Jonathan removed his arm from around his wife's shoulders and rose from the couch.   
  
Moving to stand in front of Clark and Lex, he called to Martha. "How about it, honey? Any   
  
of this sounding more familiar to you?" She was just about to answer when the ringing of the   
  
phone grabbed her attention.  
  
Smiling apologetically at her husband, she moved to the kitchen phone. "Sorry, boys.   
  
You'll have to figure this one out for yourselves."  
  
"But, Mrs. Kent," Lex called after her. "I'm sure you were the one who said..." She   
  
laughed, waving him quiet as she put the receiver to her ear.   
  
"Just play it normal, you said!" Clark whispered to Lex. "I knew I shouldn't have listened   
  
to you."  
  
"It's not over yet, Clark. Just keep it cool," he returned.   
  
"Guys," Jonathan announced firmly, "I'm getting the distinct impression that the result of this   
  
particular conversation was a resounding 'no'. Wasn't it?" He waited for a response, not   
  
particularly upset. He already knew the answer. The pair before him remained more or less   
  
silent. Following his thoughts through to their logical conclusion, he ventured. "And I'm   
  
guessing this little escapade might just have something to do with you, Lex?"  
  
To his credit, Lex didn't try to deny it. Pursing his lips slightly, he folded his arm across his   
  
chest, a smile starting in his eyes. "I may have encouraged Clark to look at a problem from   
  
a variety of perspectives and to formulate an action plan based on pro-active strategies."   
  
Clark blinked. Twice. Jonathan just smiled.   
  
"That Luthor talk for pulling a fast one, Lex?"  
  
Lex had opened his mouth and was about to respond when Martha's return, stopped him   
  
before he could begin. There was something she held in her expression that made him   
  
pause. Curiously, he asked, "Everything all right, Mrs. Kent?" She was standing just inside   
  
the room the phone still in one hand and her arms wrapped about her body. Her gaze   
  
rested somewhere beside the group, just off focus, not really looking at any of them. It   
  
seemed as though she were thinking something through in her mind.  
  
"Martha? Who was on the phone?"  
  
His escape plans forgotten, Clark faced his mother, a question shining in his inquisitive blue   
  
eyes.   
  
"That was an Agent Stamper from the local Bureau."  
  
"What did he want?" Jonathan pressed.  
  
"He was getting back to me after all those messages I left for Agent Rasen."  
  
"About the letter and the break in?" Clark wondered. His mother nodded, almost   
  
absently.  
  
"But I thought you already spoke to him about that," Lex wondered.  
  
"No, all I could do was leave messages. Agent Rasen and Agent Parker - he was also   
  
involved with the case - they were always unavailable."  
  
"So what did this Stamper guy want?" Jonathan asked, moving to stand next to his wife.   
  
"Has Rasen dropped the case?"  
  
"Not exactly. He's dead. They all are. Well, almost all of them. There were six agents   
  
who were assigned to the Franzini case and over the last two weeks..."  
  
Clark leaned forward, intently, eyes wide. "What?" he urged.  
  
"There's only one left." 


	9. Chapter 9

On An Average Day - Part 9  
  
By: Polly  
  
Okay, so this is only the tiniest update but while I still have two more days of holiday, I thought I'd better post what I have. Who knows when I'll get the chance to bond with my computer again? :-)  
  
This is a REALLY BIG PLEA! First, off, thank-you a million to Wildfire and Allegra - you're the best :-) Please tell me what you guys think of this? Is it worth carrying on with? If it's not, as it stands, then tell me what needs to be done. I know there are a lot of great stories out there that you're all busy reading and enjoying but please take   
  
a short amount of time to drop me a line. It gets pretty disheartening, writing a story that you're not sure if anyone's enjoying or at least reading.  
  
There'll be lots of lovely Lex action coming up soon, I promise!  
  
Okay, here's the next snippet!  
  
***  
  
For a moment no one made a move to respond. The news hung silently over the   
  
assembled group. At length, Jonathan spoke:  
  
"Do we know what happened?"  
  
Still slightly bewildered, Martha shook her head. "Agent Stamper wasn't really clear on all the details. From what he told me, Rasen was the first to go - it looked like a car bomb...". She paused for a moment, rememberiing the man she had known, if only briefly. He had been a good man, dedicated to his duty. He would have protected the Necturnes until he was cashing his retirement cheques, if need be.   
  
Shaking her head sharply, as if to rid herself of unwelcome thoughts, she continued in a steadier voice. "Parker was next- they think. I assume the other three were killed over the next couple of weeks."  
  
"How were they killed?" Lex asked, softly. She glanced up at him.  
  
"In different ways, I think. They seemed unrelated at the time. I don't think the team had been together for a while and the case is so old - they'd be agents in the Bureau now who wouldn't even be aware of it, I'd imagine."  
  
"So who's the last one?" Clark wondered. "The one who's left. Is it this Agent   
  
Stamper?"  
  
"The one who called you?" Jonathan added.  
  
"That's him," she confirmed. Carefully, her husband guided her back in to the den, the boys following in tow. She perched on the edge of the seat cushions, not quite ready to sit comfortably. Jonathan sat quietly next to her while Clark and Lex hovered nearby, a mixture of anxiety and intense curiosity crossing their features.  
  
"Do they think it's related to the Franzinis? I mean that's got to be the only explanation, Martha."   
  
"Well with so many gone, I hate to believe it but I think you're right. Co-incidences just don't stretch that far.  
  
Jonathan, Stamper said something else." She hesitated for a moment.  
  
"What did he say, honey?"  
  
"He wants to talk to us - to you and me. It seemed very important and he didn't want to discuss it over the phone. I didn't know what you'd think of leaving the farm for a while so I told him that I didn't know what we'd be doing - that I'd have to call him back."  
  
"He wants to see us?" Jonathan couldn't help but repeat. "When?"  
  
"As soon as possible, at the safe house. I think it must have something to do with our old connection to the case, or maybe the letter." He tightened his arm around her.  
  
"I suppose that would make sense," he agreed, slowly. "What do you think, Martha? They seem to think it's important enough to share the information with us in the first place." Martha glanced at Clark quickly.  
  
"I have to admit, I would like to know a little more of what's going on. It's probably worth finding out." The look she exchanged with her husband spoke volumes. Almost twenty years of married life, of knowing each other's fears, hopes and habits - it all went in to honing a skilled perception of the other's thoughts and emotions.   
  
  
  
Silently, Jonathan met her gaze and, almost imperceptibly, nodded his head once.   
  
"Okay," he began, "Clark, I need you to finish up on the chores for today and maybe a day or so after. Think you can handle the farm for a couple of days?" Clark's eyes widened in surprise and he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times like a fish out of water. From beside him, he could sense Lex wanting desperately to start forward, only holding himself back out of an awareness that this was really none of his business. The impulse didn't come naturally to his coolly, calculating friend, though and it was all Lex could do to remain silent a little while longer.   
  
Clark, however, was not going to remain so taciturn.   
  
"But Dad!" he protested, vehemently, "shouldn't I come, too?" He shot a hasty look to his side, where Lex stood, ready to back his protests, though Clark was sure he didn't know quite why he wanted to tag along. Aware that he would have to curb his reasoning in light of their present company, Clark pressed, as casually as he could:   
  
"You and Mom might need me - you know how these things are."   
  
Inwardly he felt a sudden prickle of frustration at his friend. Well, if he were honest, it was directed more towards the current situation. Though he loved having his best friend as a house-guest, there were times when it tied his hands just a little too tightly.   
  
With no more explicit way of expressing his concerns, he just hoped his parents got the message.  
  
Fortunately, twelve years with their son, meant that their skills at reading Clark were just as tuned. Jonathan's tone was reassuring but left no room for argument.  
  
"Absolutely not, Clark. You and Lex are to both stay here. We can't risk you, son," he added, quietly. The last thing any of them needed was Clark exposed to officers of the Federal government for any longer than was absolutely necessary. Too many questions, too many complications.  
  
"But Dad..."  
  
"Listen to me, Clark! I want you here so we don't have to worry about you and Lex isn't in any condition for another adventure so soon after last week."  
  
"I'll be fine, Mr. Kent..." Lex insisted. Jonathan wasn't listening.  
  
"This isn't up for discussion, Lex from either you OR Clark. You are both going to stay here and that's the end of it."  
  
At a loss for support, Clark turned imploring eyes on his mother. "Mom?"  
  
Gently, and not without a degree of regret, she shook her head.  
  
"I'm sorry, Clark but your father's right. In any case, Agent Stamper asked that your father and I go alone, if possible. This is still FBI business and the fewer people that know about this, the better. You'll both be safer the less you know, believe me."  
  
Jonathan squeezed her shoulder.   
  
"I'll go and get a few things ready. You'd better make that call." As she smiled and rose to move past him, he brushed a light kiss on her cheek as she did so. As soon as she had disappeared back in to the kitchen, Jonathan stood from the couch and addressed the boys once more.  
  
"Now, do we understand each other, Clark? Lex?" Neither young man appeared   
  
particularly happy but very reluctantly, they both nodded their understanding.   
  
"Good." Then his tone softened immediately. Clasping a comforting hand on his   
  
son's shoulder, he insisted gently, "We'll be all right, Son. We just don't want to take any chances with you." He then reached out his other hand and gently gripped Lex by the shoulder, startling the young man though he tried hard to conceal it. Contact with Jonathan Kent that didn't end in bruises and lacerations was still relatively uncharted territory. Forcing himself to remain still and suppressing the strange feeling in his chest, he met Jonathan's meaningful gaze. "And you," he said, his voice a strange mixture of firmness and familiarity, "you follow doctor's orders to the letter, you hear me? No stupid stunts like the last time we left you alone. Can I trust you to do that?"  
  
Lex opened his mouth to reply, but was cut short. Martha's voice floated in from the kitchen.  
  
"Agent Stamper's expecting us, Jonathan. I've got the directions. Are you ready?  
  
"In a minute, Sweetheart."  
  
"Take care, Dad," Clark offered.  
  
"You bet." Then, with an encouraging smile, he left them to throw together what they would need for the journey.  
  
***  
  
To be continued...will our boys stay at home and safe out of harms way? Or will   
  
they end up being rather...foolish? :-) The next chapter will tell. Any suggestions? Comments? You know how much I'd love you guys! C'mon! Don't make me leave little Lex at home while Clark swoops in and saves the day again?   
  
THANK-YOU FOR READING. :-) 


	10. Chapter 10

On An Average Day – Chapter 10  
  
Sorry this has been on hiatus for ever! Thank-you SO much to all of you who took the time to review – it really means a lot to me. :-) Artemis7 – I tried to email you with a longer reply but it kept bouncing but thank-you so much for your review! I know not much happens here but now that I'm on holiday, more will be on its way!  
  
Hope you like this…  
  
The ticking clock from the kitchen and the dull blare from the television set meshed together, occupying the silent crevices of the house as the long hours whittled by.   
  
"What time is it now?"  
  
Lex tightened his jaw and resisted the urge to point out the faint glow of the VCR's digital clock, flashing away before them. "Half an hour later than the last time, Clark. And before you ask," he added hastily, seeing his friend's mouth open for another predictable round of questioning, "they've been gone three hours and fifteen minutes. Even without traffic they wouldn't be there yet and there's no point ringing them because reception near the mountains is too dodgy – if they've even gone to the mountains, which of course, neither of us have any idea."  
  
If there was one thing that Clark could not stand it was being outsmarted and second guessed by his older, more sophisticated friend. Maybe it was Kent pride. So telling of the current situation was Clark's inability to shoot a snappy comment back which only further served to irritate him. The low-beat urgency that continually hummed against the backdrop of disregarded documentaries and music channels however, had settled an uneasy feeling in the pit of their stomachs. Neither one felt up to the act of verbal sparring. Clark did not comment or make any indication that he had heard Lex's answer. Instead he rose from his chair and began to pace, restlessly back and forth from the window to the chair. At increasingly more frequent intervals, Lex would glance up at him irritably from the magazine that he was only half pretending to read. For each time he looked up, the pause before he managed to drag his eyes back down to the swirls of letters and pictures on the page, would stretch to greater and greater intervals.   
  
Finally, frustrated with himself at his lack of concentration, Lex gave up the vestige of pretence and snapped the magazine shut, flinging it unceremoniously onto the coffee table. Making an attempt to cover his impulsive behaviour, he shot, "Do you have to do that all night, Clark! Just cut it out and come and sit down." His young friend stopped abruptly mid-turn and a sheepish, almost guilty look flashed across his sombre features.  
  
"Sorry," Clark mumbled quietly, and returned to perch himself tentatively on the back of the couch.   
  
For a second, Lex considered apologising, admitting that it had been he himself who had not been able to focus on his reading. That Lex Luthor actually felt the same gnawing feeling of dread that Clark Kent did. But as swiftly as the moment came, it also passed, pushed down into a chasm of unwanted thoughts and feelings.  
  
Lex heaved a sigh and sat back heavily against the couch, rubbing stubbornly at his tired eyes. "Clark, we may as well just call it a night - try calling them in the morning. We're not doing ourselves any favours by staying up all night and worrying about this."   
  
"I know - I just hate feeling like this, Lex," Clark admitted, simply. For a moment, Lex envied his friend's ability to be so honest about his feelings.   
  
"So do I, Clark. But there had to be a reason your parents wanted us to stay here. Maybe it would be best not to get involved."   
  
Clark raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I didn't think Luthors did anything that they didn't want to do." For just a moment, Lex couldn't decide whether or not to take offence. Clark surely hadn't meant his comment to be taken that way, but it still did little to dull the sharp stab of hurt at the slight. Rather more abruptly than he had intended, Lex ended the conversation.   
  
"Well I'm turning in. You can stay and pace if it suits you. Goodnight, Clark." Managing what he hoped was a friendly nod in Clark's direction, Lex carefully made his way across the living room and up the staircase, leaving his companion still seated on the back of the couch.   
  
***  
  
Four hours had passed and night had worn on to early morning. After a fitful few hours trying to sleep in the uncomfortable still heat, Lex had finally been fully awoken by a pain, similar to a hammer and chisel working their way through his skull. Immediately Luthor stubborness kicked in. Lying stock still, evening out his breathing into deep, regulated breaths, Lex attempted to fool the pain in to seeing it was neither needed nor wanted. If he didn't admit that it hurt, then surely it didn't. However, the pain continued to course through his head like a lava flow, leaving its smouldering touch in every crack of his skull. For a moment longer, Lex fought to find a reason, to allocate blame and cause and effect, work out an expedient action plan and execute it forthwith. His attempt was hindered ever so slightly by the gentle swaying that accompanied the pain which could either be put down to the late hour (almost two) or else... Closing his eyes, he passed a shaky hand over his forehead, perspiration pouring down in little rivulets until they dampened the pillow around his neck. He knew from experience that it wasn't due to the heat.   
  
Martha would have a fit if she realised he had forgotten to take his meds before turning in. Come to think of it, had he taken them after dinner? Casting his mind back, Lex frowned. He honestly couldn't remember. Events had spiralled into such bizarre directions since that phone-call. Glancing at the clock beside his bed, Lex hazarded a guess. It wouldn't make much of a difference to the carefully laid out schedule that the doctor had meticulously gone through with him if he were to have them now.   
  
He sat up gingerly and swung his legs out of bed. The heat was causing the dressings on the soles of his feet to prickle unpleasantly and contact with the floor only served to irritate further.   
  
Slipping into the shadows, Lex made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. After blindly fumbling on the wall for the light-switch, he flipped it on, wincing slightly as it flickered once, then illuminated the room in soft, warm colours. It didn't take a moment to pop the lid to the bottle and wash down the pills with a swig of water. Rinsing the glass, he was about to head back upstairs when something caught his eye.  
  
Sitting by the phone, on the small wooden counter, sat the message pad Martha had used earlier that day. Unconsciously he threw a quick glance over his shoulder before walking over to take the wad of paper in his hand, holding it up to the light carefully. It was as he has suspected. The slight indentations on the page were indeed the imprints of handwriting, normally neat but in this case hastily scrawled. Next to the light, the echoes of words were even clearer.   
  
4101 Willow Creek Road  
  
Rosemount   
  
Nevada  
  
There then followed a list of highways, interstates and exits, presumably for the journey to the safe-house. A couple of the digits were a little unclear but something as simple as a road atlas would clear that one up – no. He pulled his thoughts up short. He had promised, promised to stay there, to not get involved. They didn't want him interfering, didn't want his help, did they? That's what Jonathan Kent had made abundantly clear to him before their departure. Resolutely he replaced the message pad on the kitchen counter and once more turned to leave.   
  
A muffled beeping sound drew his attention before he even made it out of the kitchen. Ever since the break-in, the whole household had been more alert to sudden noises, particularly when such noises startled you in the middle of the night. A frown passed across his forehead as his brain tried to place the sound. It persistently continued, beeping out a steady rhythm of tones. Lex followed the sound, moving with care in the darkness around the living room furniture until he came to a halt by the couch. Removing a smothering couch cushion and reaching down between the cushions of the seat, he quickly retrieved a mobile phone complaining in earnest about a low battery. He glanced upstairs, wondering briefly whether the noise had awakened Clark. After a moment's pause, Lex assumed that for the moment, his friend was still blissfully sleeping and so turned his attention back to skimming his fingers lightly over the keypad and ending the early warning signal. Examining the offending piece of technology he recognised it at once as belonging to Jonathan.   
  
He had only seen the man use it once and that was only to check in with Martha who had been in one of the top fields. Other than that, the man was a techno-phobe, born and bred. Jonathan had probably lost it without even realising. Probably been glad of the excuse to be rid of it, he considered with a half smirk. Well, putting it on charge could well be one thing he could do to help that wouldn't be frowned upon. A sudden wave of fatigue washed over him. The pills must be starting to work, he realised as he fought against the encroaching feeling. With a sigh, he forced himself to scan the room for the charger. Tables, chairs, television, counter – it wasn't visible. The last thing Lex wanted to do was go digging round the farmer's bedroom where it likely was – there was just something a little weird about that idea. After a quick examination, he decided the power input was probably the same as his own.  
  
He flicked off the kitchen light and shuffled, with slightly heavier steps than before, back up to his room. After setting the phone on charge Lex sat back on the bed and watched it idly for a moment. Surely there were other ways that he could help the Kents? After all, if he remembered correctly, he had never actually promised to stay out of it completely. In fact, though Clark had been drawn in to his father's plans, Lex had never actually had a chance to add his name to the binding agreement at all.   
  
Lightly, he fingered his own mobile phone, casually twisting it round between his fingers as his mind contemplated various avenues. Stored within the memory were the names and numbers of a dozen highly trained, highly efficient and noticeably discreet men and women, employed over the years by either his father or by himself. The reasons for their employ seldom openly advertised. But they were good at what they did and above all else, these were the select few who Lex deemed to be trustworthy, loyal. Or at least as loyal and trustworthy as one could get in the vice-like grip of the Luthors. One call, just one call to any one of them and immediately, the Kents would have a silent, yet effective guard against any harm. These people were well-paid to remain hidden. Quite often, they could act without any detection, leaving local authorities scratching their heads in the dim-witted confusion that, to Lex, seemed to go hand-in-hand with the majority of law-enforcers across the country.   
  
Calling up his address book, he thumbed down the list of names until his finger came to hover over a name. A flicker of a pause and he had opened up the number, thumb resting gently on the green 'send' button. They would never need to know, never know that he had sent anyone to protect them. After all, they were like a kind of family to him even if that was something they would never really be able to reciprocate. Why shouldn't friends and family do whatever they could to help and protect one another? If it were Jonathan, or anyone else for that matter, would they have simply left two of their own disappear into the unknown – no one to watch their back? Lex doubted it very much.   
  
So why did he still feel guilty? Why did he continue to hover over the phone? Jonathan's voice suddenly rang clearly in his head, disapproving, suspicious, condemning. He could hear the words that the older man would use to describe his actions: underhanded; spying; secretive; undoubtedly less than trustworthy. It wasn't fair, Lex thought in irritation, aware of just how petty and juvenile that sounded, even to his own ears. That was how the Luthors showed their support. They didn't give hugs or heap praises and words of comfort. They didn't insert themselves into the middle of other people's lives. But that didn't mean that they didn't care at all. It certainly didn't mean that they thought the all-powerful money could fix any problem. Not even his father was that naive though at times, it was difficult to tell otherwise. Why couldn't people accept support, no matter what format it came in? Clark was different. He could see the value of it. He never held Lex's attempts to show friendship against him, even if he didn't always accept the gestures. He was a true friend.  
  
If Clark were the one to send the protection Lex was almost certain there would be no objections raised to it. But Clark would never do that, would he? He'd never do something as secretive as send people to spy on his parents. As if Clark Kent were any stranger to being secretive? That thought alone made him chuckle softly to himself. But the fact remained that when Clark wanted to help someone, he just came right out and did it – he didn't care who saw him and what anybody else thought about it for that matter. That was obviously the way that Jonathan and Martha had at the very least inspired him to be, if not outright taught him to be.   
  
His mind began to form an idea, strands of thoughts connecting apparently without much prompting or guidance from himself. They want me to be more like Clark, that much is obvious. Hell, that's probably not such a bad idea really. I've got the address, I've got the directions – what exactly is stopping me? The Kents should never have gone in to this un-protected. Even if I couldn't physically help, my contacts would be much better informed if I were there myself. If I could update them first hand. It wouldn't exactly be snooping then – not if I was openly there and told them about it.   
  
Placing the phone down on the bed, he began to shove a few items of clothing into a bag. If this wasn't a good idea, then so be it. It wasn't like the Kents weren't used to disappointment when it came to him. At least this time he'd managed to raise their opinions of him just high enough to allow them to fall into the realms of disappointment. He felt his chest constrict ever so slightly at the thought, his expression darkening. For a moment, he slowed his actions, laying the thin sweater back down on the dresser. That scenario truly was the one thing he had hoped to avoid this visit.   
  
Anger suddenly rippled through him. God damn that family for making him feel this way! He didn't want this – any of it. It's not like Luthors made a habit out of appealing to the charity of simple farmers, of going to far as to crave their approval, to belong in their small-town little worlds. How is it they made him feel so…inadequate? So lacking in anything good…in anything his mother, Lillian, may have even been remotely proud of. Thoughts of his mother, of her quiet nature, her gentle features quelled his volatile emotions – just as they had done when he was a boy, just as they used to do for his father – before she became sick, before Lionel Luthor began to pull away from their family entirely.   
  
It was a sobering thought and despite his efforts to the contrary, Lex felt the hot sting of tears prick at his eyes. Blinking them back resolutely, he picked up the sweater, holding it firmly as if it represented the cornerstone of his dilemma. To have the Kents lose what little good opinions they had to precariously built up of him would be difficult. But, he decided suddenly, to have something horrendous happen to them when his action could have been the key to their success – that was worse: that would be impossible to live with. To see Clark's wounded expression every time he looked at him. Determination masking the pain he felt, Lex finished packing his bag and picked up a notebook for the inevitable note he would have to leave for Clark.  
  
***  
  
Silently Lex had crept out of the house, guilt at leaving his friend behind gnawing at his insides. He had left the note attached to the fridge door where he was sure Clark would see it in the morning. The dawn was starting to spread across the horizon. It wouldn't be long before his friend would be rising for the day. He threw his bag in to the back of Clark's truck and quietly opened the door, easing himself into the driver's seat.   
  
The key slotted into the ignition and thankfully, started without too much noise or bother. Wincing in pain as the lacerations to his feet came in contact with the pedals of the truck, Lex pulled out of the driveway, slowing his speed until he could be sure he had complete control of the vehicle. He rounded the corner, past the little creek that ran alongside part of the road and then headed left at the little intersection. He found himself tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and immediately stilled them, trying to grip the wheel firmly, let not tightly.   
  
At that moment, a flurry of movement grabbed his attention as a small animal darted out of the undergrowth by the road and ran straight out in front of him. He reacted instantly, slamming on the brakes and then biting down hard on his lip to still the cry of pain. The animal scurried off to safety but Lex barely watched it go. Instead he concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths, his head bowed slightly against the steering wheel. Gingerly, he lowered one hand to his foot and tested out the soles of his feet, pushing them lightly against the palm of his hand and trying to readjust his sneakers to make them a little more comfortable. Nothing seemed to be working. Idly he recognised the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He distantly wondered whether the moisture he could feel in the bottom of his shoe was perspiration or blood. Lex already harboured a sneaky suspicion to the truth.   
  
'I can do this', Lex thought, will-power winning over discomfort. 'Set it on auto-cruise for most of the journey and it'll be fine.'  
  
Snapping his head back up, sharply, he prepared to move off again. However, he never got any further than reaching for the handbrake release. A figure had appeared in front of the truck's path, standing with its hands on its hips, staring him down.   
  
"Jesus!" he exclaimed aloud and the sound of his voice startled him. For a moment, Lex's eyes adjusted to the light. The figure was all too familiar and in any event wasn't prepared, it seemed, to wait for an invitation to approach.  
  
"What the hell are you doing, Lex?" Clark demanded, a mixture of apprehension and hurt passing over his dark features.   
  
"I could say the same for you, Clark," Lex countered, aware that even as he spoke, his was probably the greater transgression between the two of them. He watched as Clark strode over to the truck and opened Lex's door. Taking that as an invitation to exit the vehicle, Lex did so and stood, facing his rather concerned and confused friend.   
  
"Well I got your note. Not that it explains much."  
  
"Told you what I was doing, didn't I?"  
  
Clark frowned in annoyance. "Yeah, sure : 'Gone to help your parents. Call soon.' Doesn't exactly flow with the details!" For a moment Lex glanced away, a strange look in his eyes. When he returned his gaze to his friend's questioning expression, it was with a renewed sense of determination and purpose.   
  
"It's all you needed to know, Clark. Just trust me on this one, please. You gave your word to your parents and I know you want to honour it." Clark couldn't be sure but, was that just a hint of a…challenge in his friend's voice? "Anyway," Lex continued, "I'm sure your father had very good reasons for wanting you to stay here." In a quieter, slightly more wistful voice he added, "He's just trying to keep you safe. That's what they're meant to do."  
  
Clark's reaction was not exactly what Lex would have expected. "Don't pull that older brother, 'I know better than you' crap with me this time, Lex! They're my parents! You don't think I want to go and help them, too? But this isn't up to you and it isn't up to me. And anyway, how do you even know where they're going?" he demanded, almost as an afterthought it appeared. Lex calmly slid a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew the slip of paper, newly written out in his own hand.   
  
"The indentations of the address your mother wrote down were still on the phone pad in the kitchen. Couldn't help but notice it as I went for my meds." Suddenly a thought occurred to Lex as well. "How exactly did you make it here so fast, Clark? I swear you weren't up when I left." His young friend's gaze barely faltered, anger masking any insecurities about perpetuating the lies he found necessary to feed to his best friend.   
  
"I ran," he answered, simply. "The truck was parked here in the middle of the road for ages – it didn't take long to catch up."   
  
Inwardly, Lex winced. He hadn't realised time had moved so quickly: it had felt like only a few moments that he had been sitting in the middle of the road. Maybe his head was playing tricks on him again – the doctors would probably say that it was a possibility.   
  
"Stopped for an animal," Lex explained.  
  
"How long did it take to cross?" the young man returned, incredulously.   
  
"It didn't, it…" He trailed off as he noticed Clark's expression alter ever so slightly, scrutinising him more carefully.   
  
"Lex," he began, aware of his friend's stubborn streak, "are you alright?" Now that he was paying attention, Clark could clearly see the way Lex was constantly shifting the pressure of his weight from one foot to the other. What he had first assumed was Lex's rather nonchalant expression was actually masking an acute pain. He wouldn't have needed x-ray vision to know that the wounds to his feet had opened up again.  
  
"For God's sake, Lex," he admonished gently, still torn between concern and anger, "you should be sitting down – don't aggravate them any more than you need to." Raising an amused eyebrow at his companion's tone, Lex graced him with a rare moment of unquestioned compliance, perching carefully on the edge of the seat facing Clark.   
  
"If you're going to go, Lex, you shouldn't be going alone. You can't even drive properly in your state. Besides, these are my parents – I know you want to help and I do appreciate that, but how can I not be involved?"  
  
"And it's not like you haven't done this kind of thing before," Lex reasoned mildly. Clark shot him a slightly guarded look, trying to laugh off the comment but Lex could immediately spot the nervous edge that entered the young farmer's voice.   
  
"What are you talking about, Lex? I don't…I don't do this kind of stuff."  
  
"Sure you do," he countered lightly, a curious look in his eye. "Crazed people who take over the Plant, whoever seems to be threatening Lana Lang, all those rather strange students who seem to populate the high school. You're always the hero. This must be like second nature to you – wish you could show me how you do it." All at once, the strange look was gone, and Lex was openly grinning at him now. Clark couldn't help but smile back.   
  
"Well," he agreed, somewhat bashfully, "Chloe and Pete help – I'm just there too, you know – in the background."  
  
"Uh-huh. Well, I'm no Chloe or Pete but I still think we could make a good back-up team – just on the off-chance that your parents could use an extra pair of hands." Clark had wavered and lost though neither could really recall which battle it was they were fighting any more. Somewhere along the line the rules got changed.   
  
Clark gave a wry grin, mixed with a residual trace of apprehension. "A good team as in I can actually drive us there, you mean?" Lex pretended to consider this for a moment.   
  
"Well, I suppose that would be one advantage."  
  
As Lex moved over to the passenger side to allow Clark access to the driver's side, Clark continued their conversation. "And what exactly will you bring to the team, Lex?" For a moment, Lex considered telling Clark about the hired help that he could so easily call in if the going got rough but after only an instant, thought better of it. He would be honest with Clark, but this wasn't the time. For now, a version of the truth would suffice.   
  
"Why, my quick wit and intellect of course."  
  
Clark started the truck and they moved on up the road. "Great. So while I'm driving us, you can think of an excuse to give my parents when we get there that won't get us both killed on the spot." He shot a pointed look at Lex would appeared unfazed at the prospect of impending doom. "They're going to be pissed as hell, Lex." The young Luthor waved off his concerns, casually.   
  
"Clark, just tell them I manipulated you. It was my idea after all. They'll probably cut you some slack."   
  
It was a quiet admission but Lex knew he was meant to hear it. "This isn't your fault. I would have come any way – I'll make sure they know that."  
  
"Thanks, Clark."  
  
"You're – shit!" Lex raised an eyebrow at his friend's sudden outburst.  
  
"Well, that's just charming, Clark," he replied, jokingly. "Didn't realise we'd reverted to name calling."  
  
"Sorry," he apologised, sheepishly. "It's just that I left in such a hurry that I haven't arranged for anyone to lock up or take care of the farm."  
  
"Do you want to go back?" Clark hesitated.   
  
"I think Harry Warner will cover us – he's always been willing to help out and Pete will be up soon. He'll come over and lock up." Lex looked slightly doubtful.  
  
"You sure?"   
  
"Yeah. I just need to call them."  
  
"Well, I've got my phone here. You're welcome to use it." Clark nodded gratefully, reaching down as far as he could while still keeping his eyes on the road. Picking up the phone he saw charging in the lighter socket, he glanced at it in surprise. "This is my father's." Lex seemed surprised for a moment before pulling his own phone out of his bag.  
  
"Yeah, I forgot. Thought he might be needing it. You know what these remote places are like for communications. Here you go," he said, handing Clark his own phone, "we'd better keep his on charge or it'll be no use to him." Clark grinned.   
  
"You're so thoughtful, Lex. You know he hates that thing with a passion."  
  
"Yep," he agreed mildly. "I'm sure it'll make that first encounter that much more pleasant."  
  
Clark chuckled as he put out the calls to his friends, heading down the nearly empty highway as the sun rose higher on the new day. 


End file.
